


you have the right to lose control

by nevermindirah



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (but really only as window dressing), Anal Sex, BAMF Nile Freeman, Bondage, Booker can have hugs too I guess, Corsetry, Domme Nile Freeman, Enthusiastic Consent, Evening Wear, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Jewish Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Kink Negotiation, Mild Painplay, Mission Fic, Nile Freeman Marine Discourse, Nile Freeman Needs a Hug, OP hates capitalism, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), Power Exchange, Praise Kink, References to Covid-19 pandemic, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Service Sub Booker, Strap-Ons, Undercover as a Couple, Vaginal Sex, business suits, like a lot of very explicit porn, please seek sex ed content outside of fanfiction, politics? in my fic? it's exactly as likely as you think, swimwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermindirah/pseuds/nevermindirah
Summary: Nile's undercover doing corporate espionage to stop climate change, and she's got to pack up her boss bitch suits and spike heels for the upcoming executive retreat — but she's expected to bring a partner. Booker, who's become her best friend since returning from exile, agrees to come with her. She's glad at least one person who appreciates her leadership will be there.Or,Nile "I can top the shit out of you lying flat on my back with my eyes closed" Freemanand Sébastien "I will give you whateveryou ask of me" Le Livrestar inThere's Only One Bed in the Fake Relationship turns D/s Porn With Feelings with a Mission Fic cherry on top!
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 92
Kudos: 78
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank:
> 
>   * [smokeythemajestic](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/smokeythemajestic/) for the prompt that became this fic
>   * miss-nixy (TOG sideblog [theres-a-tv-joe](https://theres-a-tv-joe.tumblr.com/)) for the GORGEOUS art that will accompany this fic
>   * [highlightcity_159](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlightcity_159) for teaching me about French endearments
>   * the lovely, thirsty souls who've sent me asks and messages and commented on my posts about their enthusiasm for this fic
> 

> 
> Content warnings for corporate pressure to drink (both in general and several instances of corporate-encouraged binge drinking) and for the looming specter of workplace sexual harassment. No graphic depictions of alcoholism. A few very brief depictions of sexual harassment. Booker drinks infrequently and moderately in this fic. Nile makes a point to avoid certain coworkers and there are repeated brief references throughout the fic to needing to avoid creeps. Please comment if you need anything clarified before reading.
> 
> Title comes from Don't Let Go (Love) by En Vogue, which is one of [30 tracks I compiled for your listening pleasure as you read](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7IObeTYyzYNRq23lLk97jc). Grab your favorite hydrating beverage (reading this fic may cause you to lose fluids) and buckle in 😏💋

"Ok, so how do we want to do this?"

Nile's taking up as much space as possible on the couch, one arm slung across the back and both legs kicked up. Everyone's eyes are on her as they think through the possibilities for the situation she's just described.

"Arm wrestle for it!" Joe says.

"Or competitive cuddling?" Nicky says.

"Strip poker," Andy says.

Booker is starting to blush, and Quỳnh has _that_ glint in her eye.

Nile could've just privately asked either of them for this favor, but that wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining. She doesn't only fit into this new family of hers so well because she's a dramatic bitch like the rest of them, but it sure helps.

She's been undercover at Graham McCain for nearly six months, collecting intel on their global natural resource extraction operations so the team can shut that shit down, and in the course of crafting a believable "ambitious corporate go-getter" persona she's gotten herself an invite to the upcoming retreat. Only fifty of the best and brightest executives from across Graham McCain's many departments and subsidiaries will be attending the two-week luxury vacation in California wine country. They'll be treated to all manner of ridiculously over-the-top entertainment in between a series of windowless-room meetings where Nile is hoping she'll be able to gather a wealth of planet-saving information.

The invitation comes with a plus-one, so now she needs to pick which of her two best friends she's going to bring along.

The 2020s were a rough decade for all of them, getting slapped with a global pandemic so soon after the Merrick debacle and the roller coaster of Quỳnh's return, but they survived, and by some miracle Andy regained her immortality. By 2035 when Booker rejoined the family — 84 years early but also 15 years late, after helping Quỳnh come home earned him a suspended sentence — Nile had started to adjust reasonably well to this new life.

Over the past five years Nile, Booker, and Quỳnh have become an unstoppable force of mostly-harmless chaos. "The young ones have unionized, and I have elected to join them," as Quỳnh explained in '36 when Andy, Joe, and Nicky found them turning an entire two-story safehouse into a Rube Goldberg machine.

Their current digs, a massive house in Dakar, Senegal where Nile is based for her corporate espionage, has not once caught fire, thank you very much.

Nile hasn't told anyone at Graham McCain a damn thing about her personal life, and she doesn't _have_ to bring a date to this Vacation, Inc. shit. People who don't bring a date, however, will be subjected to speed dating with Silicon Valley jackasses. No thanks.

Nile can see herself having a blast with either Quỳnh or Booker during this otherwise brain-numbing mandatory fun, which is why she put the decision to the group. Joe and Nicky are doing a dramatic reading of the resort's website, and Booker's gone back to looking at something on his tablet while Andy and Quỳnh have a detailed conversation comprised solely of facial expressions.

"Competition will not be necessary," Quỳnh says after a final exchange of head tilts with Andy. "Booker will be accompanying the illustrious Executive Vice President on her travels."

It's not that they all do whatever Quỳnh wants because she was trapped at the bottom of the ocean for five hundred years. Well, a little bit, especially at first. It's mostly that Quỳnh makes good decisions. Or at least entertaining ones. And her confidence is mesmerizing.

She'd be handy to have along for this trip, but Booker can be smooth as hell when he wants to be.

"You cool with that, Book?" Nile asks. He's still poking at something on his tablet, and he's light years better at feelings and boundaries and all that shit than he used to be, but it still helps to check in.

"Sure thing," he says, putting the tablet down and meeting her eyes. "Want to take a long layover in New York on the way?"

Nile grins and Booker's face lights up to match. They are _so_ going shopping.

* * *

Zari Anderson and Sébastien Lykonnos have been traveling for approximately one million years. Well, two and a half days. But the company-provided transportation from SFO to the resort turned out to be a shared van with a few of Nile's colleagues and their partners, and one hour of listening to Josh from HQ talk might as well be a million years. Daria from the Havana office was _flirting_ with him, ugh.

The moment they make it to their ridiculously tricked-out suite Nile collapses face-first onto the bed.

"I'm going to go shower off l'eau d'airport," Booker says. "You good?"

Nile, still face-planted, raises one hand to give him a thumbs-up.

She's never moving from this bed. She lives here now. This bed is perfect. It is soft and it smells nice and she could spend the rest of eternity right here where no one is expecting her to listen attentively to their pointless drivel.

"Time's it?" she mumbles into the bedspread a while later when she hears Booker puttering around nearby.

"Quarter to 1," he says. "You have a good nap?"

How long it takes her to sit up and blink her eyes all the way open is answer enough. "Shit," she says. "The orientation thing starts at 1."

Booker laughs at her, and she pokes him in the shoulder in retaliation as she scrambles past him to find her suitcase. They manage to be punctual for orientation, and by the time the resort staff have finished their tour of the amenities Nile is awake enough to find her way back to the coffee bar for the largest hazelnut mocha they will sell her.

* * *

"So you said you had gossip for me from the Shabbat service?"

They're heading back to their suite after surviving their first day of Vacation, Inc. Nile spent all afternoon in meetings while Booker did "partners' activities," whatever that means. Booker checked out the on-site Shabbat service while Nile spent some quality time at the bar with her favorite coworker, Fatou, who was blessedly invited to this absurdity.

Fatou's been working at Graham McCain since the Dakar office opened a decade ago and she knows all the best corporate gossip. Her husband Moustapha is a librarian on the verge of retirement and you can tell Fatou is awake when she's making sexy-librarian jokes. Having Fatou and Moustapha here is going to make this whole experience vastly more bearable.

Tonight's dinner was surprisingly pleasant. Nobody likes hearing the words "assigned seating" at a corporate retreat, but Nile and Booker lucked out: for the entirety of the retreat they'll be sharing a dinner table with Charlotte from the Harare office and her partner Seth, and Mohinder from the Mumbai office and his partner Matt. Booker barely has to play up his Himbeaux backstory because Seth has the exact same deal, only Seth does _not_ know how to dress himself to be a corporate badass's plus-one.

Charlotte is one of the handful of people at Graham McCain who Nile genuinely likes, not on Fatou real-friendship level but seems to be a genuinely good person. She also got good vibes from Mohinder and his partner. Maybe she should start keeping a list of people she tips off to update their resumes before the Guard pulls the trigger on whatever they end up doing to destroy this company.

Booker's got an arm slung over Nile's shoulders in a way that could be interpreted as either husbandly or bro-y if you didn't know them. He chuckles into her ear. "I have so much Shabbat gossip for you, mon ange," he says. "Wait until we get into the room."

She grins up at him. "That good, huh?"

He waggles his eyebrows.

Booker checked the room for bugs this morning while she was napping, but they do a second sweep tonight just in case. Thorough background checks on all the resort staff turned up nothing worrisome in terms of corporate surveillance, though it raised plenty of concerns about California's "revolutionary" reorganization of its economy to fight climate change, and Zari and Sébastien will be tipping _very generously_ throughout their stay.

Once they're satisfied that they can speak freely, Booker's bouncing on his toes to gossip.

"Ok, Danit is cool as shit, have you worked with her much?"

Nile shakes her head from across the room where she's digging pjs out of her suitcase.

"Turns out she and Yuri are both Israeli, and she was a refusenik during the 2023 Covid vaccine protests and he was one of her jailers and they _hate each other_. They have cousins who are married to each other who moved out of Hebron in the 2027 settlement contraction and I learned so many new Hebrew cuss words tonight and it's all very serious but it was _so funny_ to watch the poor resort rabbi try to get them away from each other."

"Oh my God," she says from where she's settled into the couch by the window. "Sounds much more entertaining than some of the dinner theater we're going to be subjected to."

"Come with me next week if you want, I bet there'll be a round two. Oh and Pedro was there — he's the one you were telling me about, single dad?"

"Yeah! Did y'all get to talk?"

"Did we _ever_ , his kid is the fucking cutest."

Booker disappears into the bathroom for a minute. "You want water?" he asks when he re-emerges.

The suite is ridiculous. From the hallway it looks like a normal enough hotel room, the long distances between room doors the only signal that this place is Not Normal. When the door opens, the entryway lights up automatically with this warm, soothing light, brightness automatically calibrated to the time of day. That's one of the million or so things they can change with the holopanel controls, conveniently available both in the entryway and on either side of the bed.

The bed is enormous, of course, and tricked out with reading lights and charging outlets and — Nile can't help herself — some _noteworthy_ handhold-looking elements on the headboard.

Immortality has turned Nile into an enthusiastic cuddler, and when Booker returned to the Guard she was delighted to welcome his enormous teddy bear vibes to the family puppy piles. They've shared beds and sleeping bags and hay bales more times than she can count, just the two of them and with Quỳnh and with every available combination of their little family, and it's never been like that. She loves her friend Booker. It didn't even occur to her to feel weird about sharing a bed while they're pretending to be in a relationship for the sake of taking down this shitty corporation.

He's looking at her from the kitchenette opposite the seating area where she's posted up. Oh, right. Water. "That'd be great, thanks, babe," she says.

What? She calls all of them babe sometimes.

The kitchenette has a sink with separate faucets for drinking and washing water, a range of latest-model energy-efficient appliances, the prettiest countertop compost receptacle Nile has ever seen, and a mini-fridge stocked with locally brewed kombucha. Nile got to choose what complimentary beverages would be made available in her suite, and Booker doesn't drink much anymore so she decided to go full California. It'll be her first taste of kombucha since Nicky went on a home brewing tear in '32.

By the time Booker settles next to her on the couch she's synced her phone to the suite stereo and started up her '90s playlist. First up: "California Love".

"What?" she says when she catches him laughing at her. "This is my first time in California and I plan to enjoy myself!"

"By all means, ma chérie," he says with a teasing smile.

"So just how many pictures of his kid did Pedro show you?"

"Oh, dozens. They both dressed up as frogs for Purim this year and I about cried. There was this whole story about a petting zoo and little Gregory trying to climb in with the amphibians."

Nile grins and eggs him on.

They'll need their wits about them for two weeks of mandatory fun with fifty of the best and brightest executives at one of the most notorious mining conglomerates in the world. But they can't help themselves. Nile and Booker are up well past midnight giggling like teenagers as they test out the espresso machine and the lighting presets and all the other nonsense this suite has to offer.

* * *

"Is it just me," Nile says to the mirror, "or should we have been training in advance for all this drinking?"

"Some of us have been training for this our whole lives, mon ange," Booker says from behind her. "Need any help with your hair?"

"No thanks," she says with a smile, meeting his eyes with the assistance of the mirror. She got these faux locs installed a few weeks ago so she'd have plenty of options and limited upkeep during the retreat. Today's look is a nod to that iconic early-'20s Jurnee Smollett look with the locs around her left temple pinned back to mimic a side shave. Everything old is new again.

"Do we know who we're going to be paired with for this?"

"No idea," she says. "I know the single people are getting put on a bus with the single people from some tech firm, God help them," and she makes a Mister Yuck face at Booker in the mirror.

"Remind me," he says, "which one's your boss?"

"Brent." Nile says like the word is the worst vulgarity that's ever passed her lips. "He's a piece of shit but I can handle him. Paul from the Guangzhou office and Scott from Detroit are the ones I could especially use your help avoiding — white guys, dark hair, punchable faces. Exactly like Josh from the airport van."

Booker's smile tilts dangerously and she turns around to face him. "Please do not actually punch my coworkers. As much as I would enjoy that, it's not within mission parameters."

He raises his hands in defense. "On my honor I will only attack your coworkers with your express permission."

She smirks at him before turning around to put the last few pins in place.

* * *

Nile hasn't been this drunk on a mission in a while and it is _fun_.

Booker knows a lot more about wine than she does, and he's being picky about which varietals he tries in the interest of not getting Sad Drunk, which doesn't happen often anymore but does still creep up on him. Nile has no such qualms. She's been trying everything.

Graham McCain's in-house party planning team went all out with the catering, so she's eating very well in between all these wines, she's not _that_ drunk. Just pleasantly work-appropriate silly.

Her boss and his boss are both drunk as skunks, and even with all the single people on a different leg of the winery-hopping tour there are enough people here that she can avoid her chain of command for the most part.

Pedro somehow finagled his way out of the singles nonsense and he's been stuck like glue to her and Booker all morning. He's even more of a sweetheart in person than he is over email.

Nile's managing in her tipsiness to spend nearly all of her wine-tasting time with the subset of her coworkers who don't suck.

Assane, who she works with closely in Dakar but doesn't know at all outside of work, is married as it turns out, to a nice-enough woman named Claire who lovingly rolls her eyes at him constantly. It's sweet. Danit is as delightful as Booker promised she would be, and she's got so many good stories making fun of Paul, that jackass she's stuck working with in Guangzhou. Martha from the Geneva office is dope as shit and her partner Mickey seems like he might actually deserve her.

Pedro's friend Julián from the La Paz office seems fine, and he's married to a stunningly beautiful older woman who Booker has a long conversation with at the third winery. He reports back to Nile that Jimena was Miss Universe once upon a time.

Her gut feels weird when she sees Booker sitting out on the hillside with Jimena, but then Charlotte hands her a glass of a red blend she insists she'll like, and then there's a cheese platter, and Nile doesn't think about it again.

At the fifth winery Nile has to bite down her giggles long enough to politely observe the CFO's speech. Charles is her boss's boss and part of the triumvirate of The Shitty Men of HQ, but he's only shitty in the capitalist way, not in the sexual harassment way of Josh who she's certain is responsible for the single people being coerced into matchmaking on company time. The speech is about "the future" and "better living through responsibly harnessing nature's bounty" and she cannot wait to light every single dollar to this man's name on fire.

Nile naps leaned up against Booker for most of the drive back to the resort. His rumbly French conversation with Soufiane from the Barcelona office — another surprisingly cool person — feels nice echoing through his chest where she's pressing her cheek into him.

* * *

Today it's Booker's turn to take a nap, and when he wakes it's to Nile in a stunning black and gold gown that —

Booker has to pinch himself to make sure he's awake.

He hasn't had dreams like this in years now. _Their relationship isn't like that._

He is in fact awake, and Nile has woken him up to ask for his help zipping her into this gown for the gala that Nile will get in trouble if she doesn't arrive at in the next twenty minutes.

He's seen this gown already. He helped her buy it when they were in New York a few days ago. There's a pocket square in his suitcase that matches the gold exactly, because on this mission they are posing as a romantic couple and the plan is for them to appear In Love just enough for Nile to fit in with the normcore corporate crowd.

They've seen each other naked before — they all have, hazard of surviving things that destroy clothes as well as the bodies underneath. This shouldn't be this big a deal.

"I'm awake, I'm awake, merde, what time is it?"

"It's late o'clock," she snarks at him pleasantly. Punctuality is one of the few remaining echoes of the Marine she used to be. "Zip me up and get a move on."

He does, and because life is unfair and misogynoir hasn't yet been destroyed like this corporation is about to be, he gets away with spending just two minutes tousling a little product through his hair after hopping into his monkey suit, compared to what looks like at least an hour Nile spent styling her hair.

Nile straightens his tie with a little more force than strictly necessary, and Booker pinches himself again to make absolutely sure he's awake, that this is really happening.

"C'mon," she says, grabbing his hand. And off they go across the resort grounds to the ballroom.

* * *

Charlotte waves them over to the cocktail table she and Seth have found in an alcove near enough to the bar but far enough away that unwanted visitors would really have to make a point come talk to them. Nile tugs on Booker's hand and they head over.

"You look gorgeous," Charlotte says. "I love the gold mesh!"

Charlotte is stunning in a dark green canvas dress, and Seth looks technically appropriate but sort of ridiculous in a blue suit with an oversized black bow tie.

"Thank you," Nile says warmly, and she repays the compliment and they talk about their dresses and what she and Sébastien missed of people-watching the early birds.

Cocktail hour goes until nine, and then there'll be dinner and dancing, and at some point tonight Nile needs to introduce herself to Lidia from São Paolo and Carol from Tokyo before she can head back to the room and get out of these heels. It's going to be hard to track down Carol without also running into Brad. She'll ease herself into it.

"Zari, chérie, would you like a drink?" Booker asks her. Perfect timing. She asks for a glass of pinot grigio and sends him off to the bar with a kiss on the cheek.

There's a hilarious range of fashion in the room, all expensive, mostly Western, some trendy and some... decidedly not.

Scott and Eric from the Detroit office look as skeezy on the outside as they are on the inside, but that jackass Josh is as beautiful as he is gross, and that suit is probably a New York Fashion Week preview.

Pedro is wearing some kind of cape thing that should look ridiculous, but somehow it makes him both hotter and more dad-shaped. Assane is serving vintage John Boyega vibes in a sharp burgundy suit. Alec from the Nairobi office is giving actual librarian Moustapha a run for his money in olive tweed and his partner is in a bright green jumpsuit with a damn leather jacket like she doesn't give a shit what anybody thinks of her — a mark of good character, especially in a room like this one.

Nile hasn't had much occasion to see Booker in a suit over the last five years. The last time was for another undercover op, and clean-shaven like that she barely recognized him. It was like a corporate lawyer had taken over her friend's body. Creepy.

He kept the scruff for this trip, and thank God, because at least he looks like himself.

If she's looking a little longer than usual, what about it?

The night goes fine. Nile talks to the people she needs to talk to, she avoids the creeps she needs to avoid, dinner is delicious, the entertainment lineup is unobjectionable. She ends up having a blast talking to Alec and his date — her name is Parker and she's Quỳnh-level straightforward and chaotic. Too bad they live on opposite sides of Africa, and, you know, that Zari Anderson will be blowing up this company and vanishing within the year.

The only moment that gives her pause is when Booker asks her to dance.

They've danced together plenty, this should not be a big deal! Quỳnh loves clubbing and it's become a thing the three of them do when a mission goes well or they otherwise want to blow off steam. Joe and Nicky gave Nile a few ballroom-type dance lessons in her early years as an immortal, with decidedly mixed results, and the first time Booker saw her try a waltz with Nicky in the run-up to a mission he lost his mind laughing at them and then insisted he teach her how to dance from scratch.

Maybe it's that dancing with him is a moment of reality in the crowded room. She's not playing a role right now, not here in his arms. When she follows a spin just how he taught her, everyone else in the room sees that up-and-comer Zari and her partner, but she's just Nile, dancing with her best friend, taking a breather to be a real person before she has to get back to the mission.

That's got to be it. This is her first long-term op, and Nicky warned her it might mess with her a little. Having someone from her real life dropped in the middle of her fake life would make things feel even weirder, right?

The gala ends at midnight and Nile's plan is to high-tail it back to the room the moment propriety allows. These shoes are really tall, and she has to be up bright and early for _golf_ , ugh. She claps politely at the closing speech from the very drunk CEO and then makes a beeline for Booker.

"Mon ange, is it all right if I stick around and play a few hands of poker with these guys?"

Booker seems to be having a genuinely good time with the guys from the Barcelona office, and Nile's glad to see it. "Of course, babe," she says. "Have fun! Just be quiet when you get back to the room, ok? I plan to be asleep in the next 15 minutes." She kisses him on the cheek and turns to go.

"Wait, your dress," he says. "Don't you need help getting it unzipped?"

He looks _dead serious_ , bless him. And then he realizes what he said — in front of several of her male coworkers, who may or may not be terrible people — and his eyes go wide like a cartoon character.

"I'll manage," she says, laughing, out of surprise more than anything.

She does, in fact, manage to get out of her dress on her own. It's a little awkward — but couture always is, right? She feels a little overheated, so she takes her time washing her face with cold water, and when she gets into bed she tosses the duvet off of her and onto her absolute himbo of a fake boyfriend's side of the bed.

Nile sleeps like a rock. She doesn't notice when Booker gets back to the room, and she doesn't notice when he gently tucks the duvet around her in her sleep.

* * *

Golf with people she hates accomplished!

Nile is very good at her job, both her Executive Vice President for West Africa job at Graham McCain and her immortal vigilante avocation, and as such Mr. Brent Michaels has no idea that she hates him personally or that she's actively planning to destroy the company to which he's devoted nearly 15 years of his greedy amoral life. If she's going to wake up earlier than she'd like to play a boring and wasteful game with unpleasant people, she's going to get intel out of it, and intel she gets. Markos from the Yekaterinburg office is especially chatty on the links.

Soufiane saves her from Eric's interminable chatter about why golf courses are called links, and she ends up joining him and the other Barcelona guys for lunch. Booker was still asleep when she left this morning so she has no idea what they got up to last night.

"Do you know Marwan and Luca?" he asks her, gesturing an introduction. She doesn't, and there's the round of handshakes and elevator pitches of what they each do at the company. Conversation about their work falls by the wayside quickly though.

"Are you aware," Luca asks her, "that your man cheats at cards?"

Nile laughs. "Oh God, what did he do?"

Booker apparently had a _night_. Nile is of course well aware that Booker cheats at cards — there's a rule that he's not allowed to wear sleeves when he plays with the family, and there was an incident in the 1870s after which he and Nicky are only allowed to place bets when cards are not involved. Zari has a nice lunch hearing about the very mild hijinks Sébastien got up to with the seemingly _decent_ people now telling her the story.

Barcelona is apparently where Graham McCain employs socialists, and between that and the cocktails that are included in Sunday golf lunch, Nile makes it back to the resort with three new work friends and some very interesting intel on what's been going on not just in Barcelona but at the Geneva and Copenhagen offices as well.

* * *

"Welcome back, cheater!" Nile says brightly when she hears Booker enter their suite later that afternoon.

He groans, faux-dramatic. "I take it my new friends ratted me out?"

"I think I was pretty convincingly shocked about some of the tamest stories of your cheating at cards I've ever heard," she says. "Just how late were y'all out last night?"

"I think I made it back here around 2:30 in the morning." He flops down on the couch next to her. "You were dead asleep, and once I got into bed you glommed onto me like a koala, it was adorable."

Nile's cheeks heat up. She doesn't remember doing that. It's not like she hasn't done the same thing a million times before, it's just— she doesn't know what it is.

"How was golf?" he asks.

"Oh it was fine. Boring, other than lunch with the three amigos and a couple of things my boss is going to regret telling me." She smirks at him. "My arms hurt like hell though. I'm too good with a sword to have that hard a time with golf clubs. What did you get up to today?"

"You want a massage?"

"I wasn't—" she says, feeling awkward. He looks like he always does when they're hanging out just the two of them lately: happy to be there, simultaneously satisfied with what he has right now and open to whatever life brings him next in a way she never quite sees in him otherwise. "You know what, that would be awesome, yeah, if you don't mind. Thank you." She offers her left arm because that's the side he's sitting on, and he takes it with a gentle smile that matches the way he starts to run his hands up her forearm. "Tell me about your day?"

"I went horseback riding," he says. "This company deserves everything you've got planned for them and more, but I'm not mad about the last few hours of my life."

Booker tells her all about the horse he rode and all the sights they saw together. Part way back to the resort he ran into Jimena, the former Miss Universe they'd met yesterday. The way he tells it, they have some kind of trophy spouse union developing. Booker doesn't have to try hard at all to sell his "travel photographer who's really just a kept man" cover. Figures that he's not the only one, and Nile's glad he's making friends.

* * *

Don't ask her why, but the Sunday night entertainment is a cookout followed by company-encouraged binge drinking at the hot springs. Tuesday's scheduled to be a half-day, but Monday isn't. Who the hell thought this was a good idea?

Ugh, it was probably that jackass Josh.

A celebrity pit master Nile has never heard of grills up a mean whatever this is that she's eating, so that's cool. She's enjoying getting to know Mohinder, who spent his early career as a geneticist of all things before pivoting to his mystery assignment for Graham McCain.

Wait — is it possible for a geneticist who specialized in humans to, I don't know, breed bacteria who grow cobalt so it's no longer necessary to mine for it?

Nile's life is very, very weird. And she's still in what might technically count as only her first lifetime.

Servers are making the rounds delivering dessert — honest to God banana pudding, which, _fuck_ , which Nile has not eaten since the last time her mother made it for her — when she spots Fatou heading over to their table.

Booker notices Nile's body go rigid, and they haven't talked about this particular trigger, but he can guess easily enough what's going on. He grabs her hand under the table and squeezes and relaxes her hand with his own in a slow rhythm that she can follow with her breathing.

By the time Fatou is in front of her, Nile is ok enough to talk without her voice shaking. It's a short conversation, just Fatou inviting her and Booker to a group she's organizing for the hot tubs later. She says they'll be there.

Not long later, Booker makes their excuses to their dinner mates and takes Nile inside to one of the resort's yoga studios. He wraps her in a big hug and they just stand there for a while.

"Thank you," Nile says into his chest.

"Of course. Your family?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I wish I could say it gets easier."

She takes a few especially deep breaths. "This helps."

"For me as well."

Eventually they pull apart, and Nile goes to the stack of yoga mats and grabs two. "I know what I'd assume if I saw two people steal away from a work event to go hide away in a darkened yoga studio. Wanna bet who's the first to give us shit for this?"

Booker chuckles as he takes the mat she's offering. "Fatou, definitely."

"I lost that bet giving you first dibs, didn't I?"

"Little bit, yeah," he says.

Yoga is one of the many things Booker got into in his fifteen years away. It's nice, this little piece of their family in the midst of this increasingly stressful op. Nile follows Booker through a handful of sun salutations, and she's feeling much more herself by the time they clean up their mats and make it over to the hot tub Fatou has reserved for their group.

* * *

Nobody's _required_ to get drunk at this thing, but the ice bucket with a dozen bottles of whites and rosés set out beside a hot tub that seats fifteen people sure sends a message. There's seltzer too, and when Nile turns around from shimmying out of her sundress she sees Booker bending over to fish out two cans of seltzer wearing nothing but the shortest swim trunks she's ever seen.

Booker had been wearing loose-fitting linen pants and she didn't really think about what kind of swimsuit might be hiding under there. She is not prepared for what amounts to booty shorts nearly as small as her own.

Again, Booker's body is no mystery. Nile has helped wash caked blood off of those thighs. Honestly, she has no reason to be pulled up short just by seeing her friend in a bathing suit.

Wait, did Booker just look her up and down too? She's not wearing anything that sexy, a relatively full-coverage bikini made up of an athletic-style top and boyshorts.

Oh for fuck's sake, this is stupid. She takes the seltzer and steps down into the hot tub.

Fatou and Moustapha are holding court with a crew of middle-aged folks: Gina from the Nairobi office and her husband Reggie, Martha and Mickey, Assane — though no Claire, interesting. Nile and Fatou are probably around the same age, and the thought makes her smile.

Pedro is the next to appear. He keeps looking over his shoulder like he's looking for someone, but Fatou tells him, "Be patient, I took care of it," and he flushes bright red before slipping into the hot tub.

Natural hot springs don't have temperature controls, not even at this bourgie-ass resort where everything else is automated and customizable within an inch of its life, and everybody's flushed within moments of sinking into the water. Makes a nice excuse for the less-melanated among the gathered crowd.

Which turns out to be the theme Fatou had in mind. Danit, Alec and Parker, and finally someone named Luke who Nile doesn't know round out their group, and Nile realizes that Fatou has gathered all nine of the Black people at this retreat and a few of their partners and friends.

Nine out of nearly a hundred is as damning as it is unsurprising. Fatou is the highest-ranking Black employee across the entire company who was actually born in Africa. Alec and Gina are fellow Americans, Martha is British, and Assane, whose parents are Senegalese, was born and raised in France. All of the senior staff in Zimbabwe are white, and Nile likes Charlotte as a person, but ugh.

Nile cannot emphasize enough how excited she is to take down this company. It won't stop all imperialist resource extraction across the world, but it'll make a dent, and damn will it feel good.

Martha is telling the group all about the hike she and Mickey went on this morning and how the flora compares to the last time she was in California a little over thirty years ago. Gina grew up a few hours south of here and has plenty to add. Zari Anderson's paperwork says she was born and raised in Milwaukee, so Nile goes ahead and asks all her first-time-in-California questions.

Nobody gives Zari and Sébastien shit for presumably running off for a quickie, which is nice, and that should be the end of it. The thought just won't leave Nile's mind.

What, are those _damn, the sad man is kinda cute_ thoughts from twenty years ago deciding to return all of a sudden? Is that what this is? C'mon, girl.

Other people's relationship drama is much more interesting. Turns out Assane and his wife have a very on-again-off-again relationship and Claire decided to peace out and go do touristy things in San Francisco until the retreat's over. Assane is charming, and good at his job without being the worst kind of capitalist bastard, but in two days Nile's gotten serious vibes that he's a mess in his personal life, and she can't exactly blame Claire for whatever happened.

In happier news, it's becoming clear why Luke is there: to tell horror stories of growing up in the Australian Outback, and to make Pedro blush. Fatou looks _so_ pleased with herself.

Nile is sure that all manner of nonsense is happening outside of this hot tub. She could probably be gaining useful intel elsewhere, but she genuinely likes everyone in this little group, and she's learning to savor time spent with mortals like this while she has it.

* * *

Mondays are still Mondays when capitalism sends you on a "vacation" with your boss. Nile guzzles coffee like there's no tomorrow to get through the day's meetings.

The evening's entertainment is some ridiculous celebrity chef restaurant experience she could take or leave, but the real fun is the journey — while she was hard at work in a cushy board room planning how to exploit other people's labor, Booker and the other plus-ones had the option to take helicopter piloting lessons.

Nile is the best pilot of the six of them, and Booker is third after Nicky, but there's no easy way to explain how Zari Anderson came to be such an accomplished pilot, so when the time comes for dinner Booker shows off his "new" skills.

They're paired with a different couple for the flight, Lidia from the São Paolo office and her husband, and Lidia makes several comments about how sexy Sébastien looks handling the controls and how lucky Zari is to have landed such a man. It's weird as hell. Would be weird as hell even if Booker _couldn't_ hear all of this through the headsets, which he absolutely can. When it becomes clear that an uncomfortable look followed by judgmental silence isn't sending a clear enough message, Nile snaps and tells Lidia that what she's saying is the kind of thing that's only used as an example in the most outdated of sexual harassment training videos these days because it's so obviously not ok.

Booker is pretending he can't hear any of it, but then he also pretends he's less adept at piloting this thing than he is and "accidentally" tilts them part of the way into a barrel roll. Nile catches the barest smirk on his face.

Lidia finally shuts the hell up and leaves Nile in peace to enjoy the _stunning_ view of vineyards and craggy coastline.

Booker kisses her hand later when they're walking from the landing pad to the restaurant. "My hero," he says, completely devoid of irony.

Oh shit. This _is_ a crush. Nile has a crush on her best friend.

* * *

Nile played it cool Sunday night when she and Booker walked twenty minutes across the resort grounds in just their swimsuits and towels and got into a very silly tug of war over who got first dibs on the shower. She played it cool last night when a friendly gesture sent alarm bells blaring in her head. She played it cool this morning when she woke up before her alarm clock went off because her _you have a crush_ alarm insisted on her knowing that Booker snuggled up behind her in his sleep to hold her like a teddy bear.

She doesn't know what it is about watching Booker knead bread dough, in a brightly lit room that includes a few of the most accomplished capitalist bastards currently alive, but she is having a very hard time playing it cool.

The Guard are her family, but they're also kind of her coworkers. She and Book are here on assignment. They're sharing a bed and pretending to be a couple _for work_. It would be so gross of her to take advantage of that.

No, that's not it — Booker is in no way, shape, or form her coworker. Teammates on this immortal vigilante squad are a lot more than coworkers. She's just been in corporate mode for too long for this fucking op. They learned the hard way in the first few days of Nile's immortality that in order for this family to function, they need to be honest with each other about the big stuff. Nile could tell him she's caught feelings, and she could take no for an answer if he doesn't feel that way about her, which he probably doesn't.

Probably.

And that's the thing. She doesn't actually know how Booker might respond to the idea. She doesn't want to fuck things up with her very best friend in the universe.

She knows he and Andy used to fuck sometimes, and that didn't ruin anything. Just like that threesome she had with Andy and Quỳnh didn't make things weird. But Nile doesn't just want sex with Booker.

What she's _supposed_ to want right now is intel from Bobbi on the office politics in Yekaterinburg.

Today was a half-day for meetings, and they're free this afternoon to take classes in bread making, pickling, and gardening. Nile got a kick out of being made to wear cut-resistant gloves while slicing these beets and persimmons and tomatillos, but that was half an hour ago, before Booker started doing _that_ with his arms in her line of sight.

"It's hot when they're domestic, huh?"

Oh shit, Bobbi caught her staring. At least it fits her cover.

Nile dials up the Zari persona and tries to bring her attention back to the task at hand. "You caught me," she says, aiming for an endearing sheepish. "He cooks more than I do when we're home. The last time I tried to make bread was..."

"An insult to flour?" Bobbi smiles, lifting a shoulder in a little shrug. "I'm really good at baking those pre-made cookie doughs and nothing else."

"What's the food scene like in Russia?" Nile asks.

"Oh it's like any big city, you can get just about anything you want," Bobbi says. "My partner's about as hopeless in the kitchen as I am. We eat a lot of street food. Gotta say, though, I've lived in Russia for almost twenty years and I've never had a pickled persimmon."

"I never even heard of a persimmon before today, I don't think," Nile says. That may or may not be true, but if any of her family had brought the apple/tomato things to her attention, it was almost certainly under a different name. "I don't think I've met your partner yet, is he here?"

"Nah, Hunter's busy on his own job," she says, and Nile notices how her whole face changes. Maybe this is how she gets rapport she'll need with Bobbi if she's gonna get answers on the water quality testing.

"How did y'all meet?" Nile asks.

"We were rival coworkers, about a million jobs ago," and Bobbi is _beaming_. "How about you and your guy?"

Nile and Booker had a good time coming up with this story, and she's had fun telling it over the past few days, but there's an edge to her voice now as she retells it to Bobbi. "I'd been in Dakar for just a few days, and I was running late to meet my new boss and I had my arms full of packages for the office that I was trying not to damage. My phone started ringing and I overheard what sounded like an explosive argument between a few guys at a café patio nearby and I just got overwhelmed trying not to drop anything and dig out my phone before it went to voicemail so of course I dropped _everything_. This big hulking white guy who'd been shouting at the top of his lungs in Wolof, which I didn't speak more than a dozen words of yet, raced over to help me. It just felt like my entire life was falling apart and he had really pretty eyes."

"That's cute as fuck," Bobbi says. "What were they yelling about?"

"Football," Nile says, rolling her eyes. "I played soccer in high school and I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to calling it what everybody else calls it."

Bobbi grins. "Me too! I was a forward, got me a college scholarship — are you old enough to remember the days before free public college?"

Zari Anderson is 31 and would've been 16 when President Harris signed that shit into law in 2025. It was part of yet another wave of trying to save the US economy from the pandemic, and it helped a hell of a lot more than some of the other things they tried, but the evidence of deep and lasting economic damage is all around her. If there were justice in this world, this horrifyingly luxurious resort would instead be farm worker housing, but here they are.

Anyway, Nile did the math in advance on a bunch of things like this that might come up about her backstory, so she's already felt those feels. "Old enough to remember, just young enough to miss out on begging for scholarships," she says. "How old did you think I am?"

"Oh I'm not playing that game," Bobbi says, teasing.

They banter for another hour or so, about soccer and being expats back in the US for the first time in a while, about Bobbi and Hunter's comedy of errors of a wedding — and about _very useful_ office gossip.

Dinner that night features what they baked and pickled and harvested. Booker gets this _look_ in his eye when Nile compliments his challah that sends a shiver down her spine. Later, when he's lounging in bed while she crosses back and forth across the room to get all her things together for tomorrow's meetings, she thinks about bringing it up again just to see if he'll look at her like that again.

Wednesday's meetings are the worst yet. She's stuck in a breakout group with fucking Scott of all people for six goddamn hours. The only thing the West Africa operation has in common with the Upper Midwest and Canada is absentee landowners exploiting local labor and leaving an environmental mess behind. This is so stupid — wasteful and cruel and greedy and stupid. Nile's perspective has changed a lot since the days she felt good about herself for giving kids candy with one hand while she held a rifle in the other, and it takes all of her energy not to tell these assholes exactly what she thinks about them and their devastating business model.

The evening's entertainment is a motivational speech from none other than former President Kamala Harris. They're under strict instructions not to ask about the current Democratic primary campaign or anything that could be seen as hostile to the former president and her associates, because this is only the prelude to the after-dinner event between President Harris, her aides, and a few select Graham McCain senior staff. Free college and universal pre-K were a big goddamn deal, but Harris's record on corporate welfare and foreign policy is mixed enough that Nile's bosses might get somewhere with whatever horrifying thing they're planning to discuss.

As Nile tells Booker on their way back to the room afterwards, "Seeing her in the White House unlocked something for me. But she's still a cop." She's so exhausted from the long day of sitting on her rage that she misses the soft way Booker is looking at her as she rants about how broken her country still is and how violently she wants to murder capitalism. She doesn't miss how good it feels to have him there, listening, arms open whenever she needs a hug.

The worst of her work week is done by Thursday lunchtime, and she's walking into the dining hall with Alec and Charlotte when she sees Booker deep in conversation with Jimena. He'd mentioned spending more time with her during the weekday partners' activities — nature walks, a visit from local shelter dogs, about a million different kinds of yoga — but it looks like they're bonding hard.

Nile's not jealous, per se. She _is_ curious as hell about what they're talking about so intensely.

Parker has arrived at their table with a smile on her face that Nile is learning means a good story is coming her way, so once she catches Booker's eye long enough to exchange little waves and warm smiles, she returns her attention to the people right in front of her.

Nile's half-way across the room, so she doesn't hear the way Booker's breath catches when he sees her. Nor does she see Jimena's knowing smile.

* * *

It's officially the almost-weekend. Dinner tonight is a poolside taco bar to kick off the pool party that's shaping up to be even more booze-heavy than hot tub night was. Meetings don't start until 11 am tomorrow morning. Jesus fucking Christ, what is wrong with corporate party planners. She likes recreational drinking as much as the next person, but this mandatory fun shit is gross.

It gets a little less gross when Booker gets up to get them another round of drinks and runs into that asshole Josh at the bar. Nile is treated to the view of said asshole looking absolutely terrified by whatever Booker says to him. She'd rather not imagine what disgusting shit Josh said to prompt the probably very creative threats coming from her— well, her partner, her friend, her _crush_.

The resort staff have transformed the day spa vibes of the pool area into a club aesthetic circa 2010. The major culprits are low lighting, mostly neon and strobe lights in colors that compliment the absurdly beautiful sunset, and the DJ spinning oldies.

Oldies. As in hits from the '90s, '00s, and '10s.

When they play a Chance the Rapper song, Nile leans into Booker's ear and whispers, "I was already an adult when this song came out — now I know how Andy feels."

The way he laughs warms her all over.

People start to get into the pool as the staff clears dinner and sets up snacks and desserts. Once again the fashion choices are wide-ranging, from ritzy full-coverage to good-enough grandpa chic to sexy verging on inappropriate for a work event. Nile went athletic for all the swimwear she picked for this trip, sexy enough to feel like herself but a layer of protection from leering. Tonight she's wearing a lime green racerback bikini top with mesh side panels and simple bikini bottoms in orange with lime piping, covered up for now with an oversized denim shirt and white shorts.

Booker is wearing a t-shirt and another pair of linen pants. Nile's a little worried about what might be underneath.

Yuri is wearing nothing but a Speedo and dripping wet from the pool when he comes up to Nile and Booker at the kombucha bar. "Hey, Sébastien!" he says like he assumes Booker will remember him fondly. "And Zari, right?"

She smiles tightly. They work together somewhat frequently, given he's based in Ankara and manages a lot of the company's activities in North Africa. He has no excuse to be confused about who she is.

"It's funny," Yuri says, "looking at you two I'd assume that Zari's the sugar baby in the relationship."

Nile blinks a few times. Hmm. How harshly can she threaten this jackass and still keep her cover.

"She's older than she looks," Booker is saying, "and much more capable than some people realize. And if you don't believe me about that, maybe you'll believe that one of the many benefits of being a kept man is how much free time I have available to spend in the gym." He folds his arms to show off his biceps and smiles threateningly.

Yuri backs away with his hands up, muttering something that Nile does not give a shit about.

"Ok," she says once the jackass is out of earshot. "As much as I wish I could get away with kicking his ass myself, that—" and she gestures at Booker's everything, with a focus on his arms — "was hot."

"You flatter me, mon ange," he says. He's blushing and not meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry the world is still so full of connards like that."

She settles on a kombucha flavor, pours herself a glass. "You and me both. At least I'm done with work for the night," and she puts an edge into how she says that so he'll understand that she's not on Guard duty, "so how about we have some fun?"

"Lead the way," he says.

They find Fatou, who once again is holding court with a small gathering of people who don't suck. Pedro and Luke are sitting very close to each other, and Nile makes a point not to look at them too long, but she can't help smiling.

"It's too bad there's not a diving board," Parker is saying.

"Thank God there's not a diving board," Alec says, "or you'd be pushing me off of it!"

"Exactly!" Parker says. Her smile looks a little too genuine for Alec's terror, like maybe she's not joking. Serious Quỳnh vibes. Nile is starting to wish there was a diving board.

"I love you, but gravity, woman! Gravity!" Alec says, wide eyed.

"That's rough, man," Booker says to Alec. "This brilliant, accomplished woman who I treasure," and he gestures to Nile, "is an idiot who wears _sandals_ in the _snow_."

"That was one time!" Nile says. "Normal people who don't grow up on the French Riviera can handle a little snow!"

"It was more than one time, but the time you're probably thinking of, there was half a meter of snow on the ground!"

"Exactly, a little snow!"

"Ooh, I love snow!" Bobbi says. She's bounding up to their table wearing a black one-piece suit and holding a ball.

"See, she gets it!" Nile says, and Booker throws up his hands.

"Whatever makes you happy, you weirdos," Alec says.

Bobbi grins. "I came over to see if any of y'all wanted to get in on water volleyball?"

This is the kind of pool activity that Alec and Parker can agree on, because they're both standing up and shucking their clothes. Parker's in a blue one-piece and Alec's in board shorts, nothing flashy, but they're both athletic as hell. Maybe they really do jump from tall buildings together in their free time.

Nile isn't exactly one to judge.

"You want to?" Booker asks her.

Nile looks over to check who's gathering around the net a few of the staff are setting up, and nobody on her shit list is over there. It'll be fun! She can't avoid the pool all night. She's an adult who can handle seeing her crush in a bathing suit. Her crush is an adult and her best friend and they can have a grown-up conversation about this, goddamnit.

For now, yeah, volleyball sounds fun. She nods and starts to unbutton her shirt.

Booker is wearing very, very short board shorts. Nile hears Fatou laugh, and looks over to find that her favorite coworker is laughing at her.

"You young people have fun," Fatou says. "Moustapha, mon amour, how about we call it a night before too much longer?" She shares a delightfully not-work-appropriate smile with her husband and then _winks at Nile_.

"You are too much," Nile says. "Sleep well!"

Booker _offers her his arm_ for the short walk to the pool. She's fine. This will be fine.

A lot of people thought Bobbi had a good idea, and there's about a dozen people gathering on each side of the net. Soufiane looks up from the splash fight he's having with Marwan to wave to Nile across the net, and she waves back. That must be Luca's partner sitting on his shoulders just outside of splash-fight range — Nile hasn't met her, but Booker says Luca talks about her like she hung the moon.

The game starts out as a Gina vs. Gina match, with the cool Gina on Nile and Booker's side facing off against this "heinous bitch" from the Havana office who Nile doesn't know much about, but Pedro does _not_ talk about women, or anybody, like that without good reason. Bobbi tosses the ball in the middle and Cool Gina beats Shitty Gina to it with a spike that looks well-practiced.

It's chaos, and of course it is, two dozen people in a variety of states of drunkenness and understanding of the rules. And it's great fun. Nile wins a point by aiming for Deke while he's trying, unsuccessfully, to get Bobbi's attention. (Word on Deke is he's not gross, just clueless, so Nile doesn't spike him in the face with the ball.) There's much cheering from her side when the ball slaps the water next to Deke and Nile laps up the applause.

Booker scoops her up and spins her around in celebration, and when he puts her back on her feet they stand there for a frozen moment. Her grin fades into something softer as she looks up at him. Everything feels a little better when she's in his arms.

"Hey lovebirds," Pedro calls, "look alive!" The ball is back in play and the moment is broken.

There's not a winner of the game, per se, but the winners are totally Pedro and Luke, who leave together shortly after the game breaks up.

It's probably around 10 pm and the DJ is starting to switch over to the grown and sexy side of the playlist. Nile continues to be _just fine, thank you_ as she lounges with a cocktail that matches the lime in her suit.

She's been sitting with Danit and Charlotte for a while when a song comes on that makes both of them itch to hit the dance floor. It's that Missy Elliott song — this was Missy, right? — about masturbation that her parents aggressively changed the radio to avoid when Nile was 8 years old. It makes her want to laugh more than dance, so she waves them off. The party is much smaller now than it was, and it's nice to have a little time to herself before seeking out a new conversation.

"Hey, you," she says a little while later when she sees Booker walking up to her. He is a sight to behold in those shorts, but Nile keeps her eyes above the neck, just glancing down long enough to clock that he's carrying her denim shirt.

"Hey," he says. He settles in on the lounge chair next to her and offers the shirt. "I thought you might be cold."

"I'm not the one who can't handle the cold," she teases.

"Maybe I just wanted an excuse to come say hi," he says, and does he look— shy?

She sets her drink down and meets his eyes with a soft smile. "You never need an excuse to talk to me, Sébastien."

Jimena picks that moment to walk past them. She's wearing exactly the kind of swimsuit you'd expect to see on a wealthy, aging beauty queen, and for a moment Nile wishes Quỳnh were here to ask her what that shimmery fabric is and who designed this suit and — Nile likes looking good, but Quỳnh has taken to the science of modern fashion, and it's such fun witnessing a master in her sandbox.

They all say brief hellos, and then Jimena gives Booker some kind of significant look before ethereally continuing on her way.

"What was that about?" Nile asks him.

"Ah, just a little bimbo-himbo solidarity, as the kids would say."

She laughs. "Kids have not said that in a long-ass time."

"Are you having a good time tonight?" he asks, and she allows the subject change.

"Yeah, I am." She says it slowly, like she has to think about it, but yeah, she really is having a good time. She just happens to be a little nervous, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, and certainly not about anything that needs discussing right this minute. "How about you?" 

"Oui," he says quietly. "I was not allowed to put a shirt back on for poker earlier, and I'll have you know I was much more subtle about my cheating this time." He meets her eyes with a cheeky grin. "Some of your coworkers are good people. It's nice, this— being around people, beyond just the six of us."

"It really is," she says.

They're just looking at each other again. No volleyballs around to interrupt, only the soft breeze and birds chirping and the distant sounds from the dance floor.

"Sébastien," Nile says, and she's not sure what she wants to say next, only that all of a sudden it feels like the right time to say _something_ —

"I—" Booker starts, and he looks like he doesn't know what to say next either. He bites his lip and her eyes track the movement before she can stop herself. "Can we go back to the room? I—" and his breath catches a little. "I want to be able to call you your real name."

Nile's heart is pounding. She feels like she can barely breathe.

"Ok," she says.

They make quiet goodbyes on their way to the table where they'd left their clothes, hours ago now, and they don't talk as they get dressed and find the path back to their suite.

Nile recognizes the song that's playing as they leave. Something old, maybe older than her. _Don't you wanna be more than just friends._ Jesus.

The air between them feels thick.

They've been walking in silence for at least five minutes when Booker finally seems satisfied that nobody is around to hear. "Nile," he says, and it feels _so good_ to hear her real name in that quiet rumble.

"Yeah?" she says when he doesn't continue.

They're still walking, and he's not looking at her, but when she reaches to hold his hand he laces their fingers together.

"You're my best friend," he says. "I can't imagine that ever stopping, no matter what happens, no matter what either of us does. You're always going to be my favorite person. But I feel like I need to be honest with you that this trip has made it impossible for me to ignore that I— that I am hopelessly, utterly in love with you. I—"

Nile has stopped in her tracks. It's dark, their path lit only with small lamps every few feet, and if Nile can't see Booker's expression when he turns around then she's sure he can't see hers.

She doesn't want him to worry for one more second.

"I love you too," she says, and she's pulling him to her by the hand she's still holding tight. She's not letting go.

He steps up close to her, but he's still holding himself back. She can feel it in the tension running up his arm, in the way he's holding his breath.

"I'm so in love with you, Book. Come here," she says, and finally, _finally_ she is kissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's gonna happen next????
> 
> I use a smattering of French endearments and cuss words throughout this fic:  
> mon ange = my angel, a romantic endearment  
> ma chérie = my dear, a romantic endearment  
> mon désir = my desire, a sexy endearment  
> merde = shit, fuck  
> connard = bastard, asshole  
> me foutre = fuck me, as an interjection not a request  
> mon Dieu = my God
> 
> Have y'all watched Lupin yet? [It's so good.](https://www.vulture.com/article/lupin-netflix-adaptation-arsene-lupin-gentleman-thief.html) This fic's OCs Assane and Claire and Soufiane (the name of the actor who plays Hot-but-a-Cop Youssef) are loosely based on those characters. Assane reminds me a lot of Veronica Mars — he's so much fun to watch but I would NOT want to be friends with him. (Claire don't get back with him, he's pretty and he loves you but he is never going to stop being a mess!)
> 
> You might also recognize my OCs loosely based on characters from Heroes (Matt/Mohinder, my OTP from over a decade ago!), Leverage, Agents of SHIELD, Doctor Who, and Star Wars, as well as TOG cast and crew. Charlotte and Seth are loosely based on one of my other favorite Charlize Theron movies, Long Shot, which now that I'm writing this occurs to me would make an AMAZING Book of Nile AU. I also named OCs after YouTubers and friends/coworkers and a handful of the shittiest men I've ever had the misfortune to have as coworkers. Hey Josh and Scott, fuck y'all very much!
> 
> Fatou and Moustapha are actually-original OCs, who you can read more about in my Nile Freeman Feelings Epic [I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315082).
> 
> And yes, I named this shitty corporation after two shitty US Senators, John McCain (rip I guess??) and Lindsey Graham, who talk(ed) a big game about "not being like other Republicans" but when it comes down to it just do not care about how their policies affect people who aren't wealthy Americans.
> 
> Zari is one of the few dozen river-related names Nile/I came up with before her big adventure in London in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. It means golden in Persian and is a reference to the Yellow River and also my fave superhero TV character, Zari Tomaz/Tarazi. Anderson is for Andy and Lykonnos is for Lykon because I like crying.
> 
> Did I just low-key fly my antizionist flag at the outset of a porn romp? You bet your ass I did! [Israel is getting a lot of credit right now for its covid vaccination program](https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/why-israels-vaccine-success-might-be-hard-replicate/617780/) but [it is not equitably reaching Palestinian citizens of Israel, and Palestinians in the occupied West Bank, Gaza, and East Jerusalem are pretty much shit out of luck](https://jewishcurrents.org/vaccination-under-occupation/). Israel is blaming the Palestinian Authority like they always do when Israeli gov't policy — which ultimately sets the playing field for Palestinians and the PA — makes it impossible for Palestinians to meet their own needs. (For my fellow Jews reading this, I know that some of us really strongly believe that Zionism is the only way to guarantee our safety, and caring intensely about Jews' safety is valid as hell. I believe both that Israel's historical and current treatment of Palestinians is a dealbreaker, and that a Jewish-majority country isn't ever going to be a guarantee of Jewish safety, ending antisemitism is.)
> 
> Back to fun stuff! Inspiration for [Nile's Saturday evening gown](https://www.redcarpet-fashionawards.com/2020/02/24/kiki-layne-wore-armani-prive-oscar-de-la-renta-to-the-2020-naacp-image-awards/), except with gold mesh at the side instead of silver. This red carpet blog calls this dress a little more understated than Kiki's usual, and that's what I thought Nile would go for in this work environment. And peep [Aldis Hodge looking gorgeous in this olive suit](https://www.townandcountrymag.com/style/jewelry-and-watches/a29579403/aldis-hodge-clemency-movie-favorite-watches/)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Spoiler alert?) This chapter includes depiction of coconut oil as lube. Heads up, kids — [oil-based lubes like coconut oil](https://www.healthline.com/health/coconut-oil-sex) degrade latex condoms/dams, can fuck with the delicate pH and flora balance of the vagina, and can cause acne on very sensitive skin. Water-based or silicone-based lube is almost always preferable to whatever oil you've got in your kitchen. Safety first!
> 
> If you didn't grab a hydrating beverage before sitting down to chapter 1, I gently encourage you to go get one now. Enjoy 😏💋

Nile breaks the kiss with a hungry grin. "Let's get back to the room," she says.

Booker looks gobsmacked. She takes his hand.

The moment they get to their suite and close the door they're kissing again. Nile backs herself up against the wall and pulls him close. Damn, these _shoulders_.

"Full disclosure," she says as he plants kisses along her jaw, "I think I've been looking forward to this for twenty years."

He whimpers into her skin. She gets her hands in his hair and rubs at the nape with her thumbs as he starts to kiss down the side of her neck to the markless spot where her immortality was born.

"Nile," he says, "I have loved you since the moment I dreamed of you."

"Fuck," she moans, because he is kissing across her collarbones and down to her breasts. "You feel so good, Sébastien." She untangles one hand from his hair to try to unzip her bikini top but when he notices her struggling he stills her hand with both of his.

"Please, let me?"

She nods, smiles softly, gets her hands back in his hair. "Twenty fucking years," she says like she can't believe this is finally happening, like she can't believe it took them this long. "I think I needed some time to get my head around everything before I looked too closely at how I felt, but you remember in that cave, with the Rodin? You were the first person who made me feel like— like I could just _be_."

As she's saying all this, he is taking his sweet goddamn time getting her top off. He's kissing at her shoulder while his fingers run lightly over her breasts over the fabric.

"Please," she says.

He laughs into her skin and unzips her with no further ado.

 _Fuck_ his hands feel good. He must've unclasped the band closure while she was talking, because the lime green bikini top just fell off of her like an exhale, and he's wasted no time cupping one breast with his hand while he draws out the line of kisses he's slowly making towards her other nipple.

She's tall, but he's almost half a foot taller, and she would really like to get her own hands on his ass right now but she can't quite reach. Instead she clutches at his shoulders. Maybe she'll try jumping up into his arms, see if he'll hold her up against the wall.

As the thought crosses her mind he releases the nipple he's been deliciously sucking on, and he starts to kneel.

He's looking up at her from under his lashes, face bright pink and so open and happy that it takes her breath away. "May I?" he asks.

 _Me foutre_ , Nile looks so beautiful towering above him like this. She just made the most _unbelievable_ noise. She looks so happy, but too overwhelmed to quite move her face into a smile — it's all in her eyes.

He could kneel here for hours just watching her face, but she's nodding, and he will do nothing less than give her exactly what she wants. So he sets his lips to her belly and gets his fingers in the waistband of her bikini shorts.

Sébastien le Livre has been haunting this planet for 270 years and he has never in his godforsaken life tasted anything so good as Nile. She's _so wet_ and the way she's digging her fingers into his shoulders, the way she's _moaning_ — he'll be lucky if he doesn't come in his pants before she comes on his face.

He's lost all sense of time and place. All he knows is he loves Nile and by some miracle she loves him too, she loves him _like this_ , and they're safe, and they have time, and he is loved and wanted and _good_.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a little flag waves that he should use his words, that they should have a real conversation about what this means. He salutes the thought and tells it to come back later. Right now he's drawing her clit between his lips to suck at and she's digging so hard into his shoulders just at the base of his neck and he's breathing in her pussy and swallowing her moans and—

Nile is patting gently at his cheek.

He pulls away from her just enough to look up into her eyes. "C'mere," she says, and she's nudging him with a hand on his back, and he follows.

Kissing her is _perfect_.

Nile's got a hand on his ass and he can't help rutting into her where they're pressed together against the wall. He feels her break into a smile against his lips.

"Bed," she says. "Now."

"Bossy," he says, already moving, taking her hand, leading her out of the little hallway and to their bed.

Her beautiful smile has tugged up at one corner into a smirk. "You surprised?"

"Far from it," he says, and he hopes Nile hears in his tone how much he loves her, how far he would go to please her.

He's so careful laying her out on the bed they've been sharing for nearly a week already. Nile's skin tingles with how gentle he is, how comfortable this feels despite being brand-new and fucking _life-altering_. Twenty years is a blink compared to how long they can have together.

"Tell me to slow down if you need, ok?" she asks, and he grins back at her like he'd follow her to the ends of the earth, which he probably would. He's laid down on his side next to her, and _fuck_ he looks good like this. She pulls him in for more kisses and gets her hands on his chest, his abs, his hips, the strings keeping those board shorts between them.

Nile's had the sexual health chat a dozen or so times since it became a non-issue for her. Andy was absolutely right that sex with mortals is fun but lying is a barrier to intimacy, and it hadn't occurred to Nile until right this moment that not only does she not need condoms with Booker, she doesn't need to lie about her body.

She's gotten up to all kinds of things in her first sexually active quarter-century, but she's never had a dick inside her without a condom.

"Are you ok?" Booker asks, because Nile's just full-body twitched, and there's a furrow deepening between her brows that's got him worried. He runs his thumb across her skin where his hand has landed at her hip.

"More than ok," she says. "I just realized we don't need condoms." She's grinning, wolfish, like she's about to tear him apart, when she leans over to whisper in his ear, "I've never had somebody come inside me without a condom before, if you're interested."

His face goes on a _journey_ before he manages to form a response to that. "It is _so hot_ how direct you are."

Her grin brightens, still like she's about to tear him apart, but sweeter somehow. She looks delighted. She looks like she's _at home_ lying here naked with him and he is going to lose his goddamn mind.

He sees it in her face when she notices how his dick twitches against her thigh through the fabric of his swim trunks.

"I can tell you right now I'm not going to last long," he says, and if this were anyone else he might be nervous about how they might react to that, but this is Nile. She's got him, body and soul. Exactly as he is.

She leans in to kiss him gently on the cheek. "I'm gonna take that as a compliment, sweetheart," she says, and then she starts to kiss down his neck. "Yeah?" she asks when he moans into the kiss she lands at the base of his throat.

"Gentle there, but yeah," he says.

Oh _fuck_ , he can feel her smile against his neck.

"I can't decide whether I want to ride you or have you pick me up and fuck me against the wall." She bites her lip. "Thoughts?"

"I will give you what _ever_ you ask of me," he says, and when Nile pulls back to look at him, God _damn_ he looks like he means it.

Oh, he looks like he _means it_. Oh, Booker, _sweetheart_.

Nile takes his face in her hands to make sure he's looking at her. "It's a good thing to have boundaries, Sébastien. I'm gonna keep loving you whether we do any of this or not."

"Mon ange," he whispers. His eyes look a little watery. "I— This isn't—" He takes one of her hands from his cheek and lays a reverent kiss on her palm. "I love how you take care of me, but I'm trying to say I want to take care of _you_. I'm trying to say I— I want to follow your lead."

"Oh," she says.

He feels her full-body shudder where he's still got a hand planted firm at her hip. The worry is melting off her face, replaced with the most delicious smirk.

"We're gonna talk more about that later, ok, sweetheart?" she says, and he nods. "For now — _fuck_ , I really want to ride you, if you'd like that too."

"Please," he says.

Nile runs her hands back down his chest to finish untying the laces of his shorts, and as soon as he's tugged them off, finally, beautifully naked, he's stretching back onto the sheets in front of her like a work of art. He's holding out a hand, offering it to her as if to help her into a carriage, and the image makes her flush all over. It's been a long few days since she went to sleep in this same bed alone but overheated at the thought of him.

She takes his hand and walks up the bed on her knees to where she can swing a leg over and straddle him and lean up to get her mouth on his.

He kisses her like he's _starving_ for her.

Her hands are roaming across his chest, testing the waters with his tits. He's so keyed up that she can't tell if he's sensitive like she is here or if he's just loving the attention. She feels him buck his hips, just once, when she leans back a little so she can look at him and the swell of her ass brushes against his cock. By the look on his face he _really_ wants her to take the lead.

"You ready for me?" she murmurs.

He nods, biting his lip.

This is where, in Nile's experience, the condom pause happens. She's not nervous, exactly — this is _Booker_ , he will love her no matter how awkward she is in bed, and it's not like she's worried about some kind of technical virginity. And then she realizes. Condoms mean lube.

She holds her right hand in front of his mouth, palm out, and says, "Lick."

This was a _great_ idea. Booker looks gorgeous licking a stripe across her hand, from her wrist up to the knuckles of her first two fingers. And then, with a glint in his eye, he sucks those first two fingers into his mouth.

Another idea pops into her head at the image, and now's not the time, but she cannot fucking wait for an appropriate moment to hear what he thinks of another thing she'd like him to try with his mouth.

He's closed his eyes, and he bobs up and down her fingers a few times before pulling off with a smack and tracing his tongue wetly back and forth across her palm.

"Good," she says. Dear _God_ , the look in his eyes when he hears that.

She leans up on her knees and slowly wraps her hand around the base of his cock.

"Nile," he breathes. "Please."

Nile runs her hand up his cock and tightens her fingers just a little bit around the ridge where his foreskin has pulled back. Booker looks like he's about to explode. They haven't negotiated _anything_ — she didn't even know he still had his foreskin until this very moment — and she should really move on from the hand job before this tips over into painful for him.

She takes one more moment to appreciate how pretty he looks spread out under her. She blows him a kiss, and then she lowers herself down and guides the tip of his cock to where they both want it.

Watching him like this, desperate for her, desperate to give her whatever she wants, has her _dripping_ wet. The moment she takes her hand away she sinks down onto him — he thrusts up into her — like they were made for each other.

His hands on her hips feel possessive in the _best_ way. But it's not enough. She needs more of him. She needs to be kissing him again. She needs to feel him _everywhere_.

Leaning down to kiss him changes the angle, and they both moan. He rubs a hand up her back — _fuck_ , his hands are big. As she kisses him, she suddenly remembers a time in the field a few years ago when he tossed her in the air so she could catch a helicopter landing skid and keep some goons from ruining their day.

"I changed my mind, I want you on top of me," she says. "If that's ok?"

"I'd love to," he says.

Before she knows it, he's rolled them both over and landed gently on top of her, _without pulling out_.

The pressure on her clit from this angle is _so fucking good_ and she can get her hands all over his back and his fucking gorgeous ass and and holy fuck his fingers are digging into her back where he's still holding onto her. She can feel him pressing into every inch of her, nibbling at her earlobe and groaning into her ear as he settles into a rhythm. Tries to, at least. He's holding back. He keeps slowing down only for his thrusts to go quick and shallow again. Like he thinks she wants it slow and he's trying to control himself.

She could come like this, but it might take half an hour, since not even her soulmate can get her body to chill out enough to let her come when she wants to.

Is a week enough time to start using the word soulmate?

How about twenty years?

They have _so much time_ ahead of them.

Nile slings a leg across his hips and digs her heel into his ass. "Fuck, Book," she says. "Don't hold back."

The noise he makes vibrates all through her. He's stopped trying to pull most of the way out before he pushes back inside, and he's picking up the pace, breathing heavily into the side of her neck. He starts to move the hand that's not trapped under her back, seems like maybe he's trying to give her clit even more attention than — _oh_ — it's already getting, but then his rhythm goes haywire and his fingers are digging into her and —

 _Oh_. He's splattering inside her with the most beautiful sigh she's ever heard.

Once he's caught his breath, he starts to plant gentle kisses down her neck and chest before finally landing over her heart. "I love you," he says softly.

"I love you too."

His soft dick slipped out of her at some point and now she's got her legs wrapped loosely around his torso. She starts to roll her hips up into those beautiful fleshy abs of his, and fuck, that feels good—

"Oh, Nile, I'm so sorry, you haven't—"

"It's ok, we're good," she says. "It takes me a lot longer than usual the first time or two." He looks like he's trying to squash down his worry, struggling not to replace it with the kind of stubborn determination that she's seen on more than a few partners over the years.

He really does feel good weighing her down like this. She rolls her hips up into him a few times, nice and slow, really arching her back into it.

She lets her pleasure spread across her face in a filthy smile. "How about you stay right where you are and let me enjoy you?" she says.

"My pleasure," he says. He starts to move his hand toward her breast. "Do you want me to—"

"Yes please," she says before he can even finish the question. She puts her hand over his and moves it over her breast to show him exactly what she wants. Gentle teasing with fingertips and firm groping with his whole hand and brushing hard and soft against her nipples and all over again. "Keep changing it up every so often until I tell you to keep doing a particular thing."

He's grinning at her like she hung the moon.

She leaves him to it and trails her hand the rest of the way down her torso to where her clit is seeking friction against his abs.

She teases herself for a while, rolling her hips but not touching herself directly where she wants, letting her body reacclimate. Booker looks _fascinated_ by her tits, like the way her nipple pebbles when he brushes his thumb right next to it is the best thing he's ever seen. Before long she can feel her pulse hammering through her pussy and she swipes two fingers through her folds to get them nice and sticky.

Fuck, this is Booker's cum on her hand. _Fuck_.

The realization shorts out something in her brain and her fingers of her left hand dig hard into his shoulder. She holds him firm between her legs and rolls her hips against him so that her clit gets alternating pressure between her fingers and his torso.

He's started to graze heavily over her nipple with his thumb. "Fuck, oh, please keep doing that," she says, and _fuck_ , this is going to be _so good_.

He's so heavy and so safe and she can feel herself going boneless at the same time as her breath hitches and God _damn_ she is _finally coming_. This one orgasm has been building for nearly an hour at this point and it is _so_ worth the wait. She presses her clit hard into Booker's abs and holds on tight and lets herself float in the high of it before gently drifting back down.

Booker is still following her lead. He stilled his hand when she stilled her hips, and now he's moved his hand down to rest it gently at her side while he kisses across her sternum and mumbles about how beautiful and soft and powerful and perfect she is. She takes her sweet time savoring the feel of coming down from her orgasm while this beautiful man continues to worship her. His dick twitches against her thigh and he laughs gently into her chest before looking up at her and, _oh_. Fuck but she loves him.

* * *

The first thing Nile is aware of as she wakes is Booker's arm slung tightly around her middle.

"Good morning," Booker mumbles into the back of her neck.

Nile doesn't have anywhere to be until 11am. She knows how she'd like to spend the morning, but she also knows that if they get going again, she will not be anywhere near on time for work. From the look of the sun peeking in through the curtains, it can't be much past 8, but she has _plans_ for the body and soul next to her. If they only have three hours, she wants talking to come before— well.

"Hey," she says. "How you feeling?"

"Perfect," he says. "You?"

She turns in his arms and kisses him in answer.

Before they can get too carried away, she pulls back. "What do you think about making us coffee while I call for room service breakfast, and we can have a nice grown-up conversation about our feelings?"

He lands a chaste peck on her lips. "You're the real brains of this operation."

Nile laughs, rolling onto her back as Booker pulls away from her to go get coffee started. By the time she sits up, he's pulled on lounge pants. Probably for the best if they're actually going to have that grown-up conversation, and it's still a very pleasant visual.

By the time room service arrives, Nile has let her locs out of her wrap and is half-way through her first of what she suspects will be several of Booker's increasingly competent oat milk lattes. She thinks it's very considerate of her not to refer to his watered-down espresso as an Americano.

Breakfast tacos were the _exact right choice_ , Nile thinks as she looks to the other side of the couch and watches Booker lick salsa off his fingertips. He still hasn't put a shirt on. That works just fine for her.

"Are you aware how adorable it is that you keep tucking your hair behind your ear?" he says.

Nile flushes. They've caught each other staring.

And then she laughs, because they're _allowed_ to stare now.

"Ok, so maybe I'm a little nervous about the define-the-relationship conversation," she says. "Not, like, nervous-nervous. Just. Butterflies?"

"Right there with you," he says with a soft smile.

Nile takes a long sip of her coffee, puts the mug on the table, and turns on the couch to face him. "Just because I know talking about feelings is important doesn't mean I'm all that good at it. Is— is it safe to say we're together now? Like how all these shitty rich people think we're together? I'm not sure it changes much beyond, you know, sex."

Booker takes her hand in both of his and brings it up to his mouth for a reverent kiss. "We were already together in a lot of ways, and now we're together in the other ways too. It can be simple as that."

"Yeah," Nile says. They sit there, hand in hand, grinning at each other like the idiots in love that they are.

Booker breaks the moment with a bright laugh. "So how much money do you think is riding on whether this happened?"

"Now that I'm realizing how obvious we are," Nile says, "I can't imagine even Nicky is dumb enough to bet against us getting together on this op."

Booker raises an eyebrow. "I don't know, Joe might have money on me choking."

Nile's eyes widen.

And then Booker's eyes widen.

They look at each other for a long moment.

Nile bites her lip. Takes a deep breath. "Ok," she says. "Last night, when you said you want to follow my lead and take care of me. I am _into it_. But that could mean a lot of things. What would you like it to mean?"

Booker looks like he's barely breathing. "It could mean kink, if you want."

"I'm asking what _you_ want, babe."

"I want to make you happy," he says. "And before you go saying all your smart millennial things, I'll remind you of that time one of my therapists had me paint the walls of my house in Antwerp with "I don't have to be useful to be loved" in every language I know."

Nile feels like she's barely breathing, but it feels _good_.

"I guess I also don't have strong preferences about what exactly we do? Well, there's definitely things I like and things I don't. I just— I don't need to call the shots, I guess you could say. I can roll with a lot of different things. Like with weapons, you've seen me bean somebody in the forehead with a stapler, I'll make do with what's available. Maybe that's a bad example. It's like—"

Booker looks out the window for a moment, like the right words will be laying out there in the grass soaking up the morning sun.

"I like knowing what my role is. I never wanted to lead an army or any of that, I just want to make sure the people I love are safe and well. And maybe there's a little something about how the last time I came up with a master plan it went about as badly as it possibly could have, but again, therapy. I don't want to be punished. But if you wanted to, I don't know, tie me up? That'd be fun for me, because it's fun for you."

Nile lets out a little moan at that. Booker's eyes shutter a little, suddenly shy, but _oh_ shy is a good look on him, when it's for her, when it's because he's trusting her with this.

"I guess what I'm saying is I love how smart and confident you are, I love how you walk into the most absurd shit and assess the situation and take charge and make it all make sense. If you want one part of your life where you don't have to be the boss, that's ok. But if you want to boss me around in bed—"

Nile interrupts him with a kiss, closed-mouthed but blistering. "I would _love_ to boss you around in bed."

They grin at each other like idiots who are _starving_ for each other.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Nile mutters. "How the fuck did it take us this long to goddamn talk to each other about this shit?"

"You curse a lot more when you're talking about sex, you know that?"

"You do remember I was a Marine, right?"

Booker tilts his head in acknowledgement.

"So," Nile says.

"So." Booker holds her gaze while he takes a sip of his coffee. Oh he's gonna be a little bit of a brat, isn't he?

"You," Nile says, "are going to need to fill out a yes-no-maybe list for me before I start talking about all the things I want to do with you."

"Yes, m—"

"And you are not gonna fucking call me ma'am. You are gonna," and Nile pauses. Looking out the window onto these gorgeous rolling hills really does help a person gather their thoughts. "You are gonna come up with an endearment for me that you will only use in bed, that has absolutely fucking nothing to do with the military, ."

Booker's jaw is hanging open like he can taste her words on his tongue. "My pleasure," he says.

* * *

"And the winner is... Nile Freeman! For her performance as a focused and competent professional for an entire work day!" Nile says to herself once she's safely back in her suite after a half-day of meetings that felt more like half a year.

Booker is at the resort's Shabbat service, and she would've gone with him this week but, as different as Jewish sensibilities about sex are, it's still not appropriate to be all over your partner during a prayer service. Especially not in front of your damn coworkers.

Nile has an hour to find a good yes-no-maybe list to assign to Booker this evening. Or, she has 15 minutes to find a yes-no-maybe list, half an hour to masturbate, and 15 minutes to get herself presentable for dinner.

She finds the perfect list template in 8 minutes.

* * *

Mohinder is asking her a question.

Nile blinks. "I'm sorry, Friday brain fog. Say that again?"

She's really bonding with Mohinder, in the academic sort of way that's got her thinking maybe it's time to consider devoting a few years to school. There are half a dozen things Nile can see herself getting a graduate degree in. Mohinder is definitely on her list of people to tip off to arrange for new employment, and possibly on her list of people who might be willing to help take down Graham McCain.

None of that means she's going to be any use in a conversation tonight. She's trying her best to be a normal adult person whose mind isn't far away in the sheets of her plushy resort bed, three fingers in her pussy while she swipes through a yes-no-maybe list with her other hand.

She'll be expected to sit quietly and watch a play after dinner. How the actual fuck is she going to do this.

* * *

Booker knows that Nile had time to go back to the room and change before dinner. Is she still wearing her Boss Capitalist Bitch costume just to fuck with him?

This afternoon's pottery class was _really_ not the kind of distraction he needed. It wasn't until he brought his attempt at a coffee mug to the teacher for its turn in the kiln that he realized he formed it to have Nile's exact proportions.

Matt and Seth joined him for the Shabbat service, where they met up with Danit and Pedro — _and Luke_ , because he "likes learning new things," uh huh, sure, that's the only reason. Yuri wasn't there, Baruch Hashem. And Pedro and Luke holding hands and sharing a siddur really took the heat off Booker's constant blushing.

Jimena figured out what's up between him and Nile — the posing as a couple, not the rest of it — but it would really be best not to blow even that part of their cover with anyone else.

Nile really does have a lot of very smart millennial things to say about mental health, and quality time connecting with human beings outside their little family is an important part of not backsliding into a desperately suicidal drunk bastard. The Shabbat service was fun. He likes these people. Challah tastes better when it's shared.

But now Booker is expected to sit through _three hours_ of dinner and some kind of theater performance, sitting next to Nile, without kneeling at her feet and begging her to tell him what to do next.

Baruch Hashem all over again, because the play turns out to be hilarious, a comedy revue from a theater troupe connected to several of the Bay Area universities. The anti-capitalist themes are mild but pointed and Booker spends as many as five minutes at a time _not_ thinking about how amazing Nile looks in that suit vest.

His self-control is fraying by the time they finally get back to the room.

He goes in for a kiss as soon as they get the door closed, but Nile stops him with a finger against his lips.

"Wait," she says. "Sit."

 _Fuck_. He did basically ask her to be his Domme, didn't he.

It appears that the time she could've spent changing out of that crisp white shirt and tailored navy vest and coordinating wide-leg suit pants and nude spike heels she instead spent setting up this table where he will be expected to—

"You are going to sit and fill out this yes-no-maybe list, and I'm going to sit with you and make sure you don't get distracted, and then we're going to talk about it."

She's using her no-nonsense voice and _fuck_ she's not even trying to be sexy. He's already tenting his pants.

Oh and this document is _thorough_.

Booker starts by highlighting things digitally on the tablet, but he quickly switches to pen and paper, which Nile has thoughtfully also provided him. He's leaking precum onto the front of his pants but he's barely thinking about that when his mind is so busy imagining the possibilities in store for him. Nile has preemptively crossed out some things as hard limits for her, but she seems to genuinely want to know what he's interested in, and she has left _many_ possibilities open for his thoughts.

Nile sets a glass of water next to the tablet, and he looks up to find he's been hard at work for nearly an hour. She's unbuttoned the vest and wrapped up her hair, and when she lays back on the couch and puts her feet out in front of her, he sees she's still wearing the heels.

"All done, mon ange," he says quietly when he's finished. He's sure he must be beet red, and if he stands up to refill his water glass she'll see just how much of a mess she's making of him already.

"C'mere," she says. "Sit with me while I take a look. And bring the green highlighter?"

He does as he's told.

She doesn't comment on how hard he is, and she lifts her legs so that he can sit next to her, laying her legs across his lap just shy of his cock. As she reads what he's written she starts to absently play with his hair. He has absolutely no sense whatsoever of time passing. He just watches the colors change in the LED lights running under the edge of the bed as he waits for her.

Eventually he feels her posture change, and when he looks at her she's smiling, warm and wide and perfect. "Good boy," she says, and maybe he should be embarrassed by the noise he makes but he does not care.

"Oh you are going to be such a pleasure to boss around," she says. Her eyes are dancing. Booker's chest constricts with how much he loves her.

"To start with," she says, "I am not trying to run your life anywhere outside sex or missions, ok?" He nods, and she brushes her thumb against his cheek, like a reward. It makes him shiver. "We are on the same page about not doing things that are likely to happen in the field — I don't want to have to explain to bad guys why your dick's hard from getting punched."

She must have noticed how her thumb brushing his cheek makes him feel, because she's started grazing back and forth across his skin. It feels so good it doesn't even occur to him to laugh at the thought of getting hard in the middle of a fight.

"And I'm not interested in pushing your boundaries or anything in the direction of consensual non-consent," she says. "I want you to talk to me, tell me what feels good, tell me if you want something different. I know that can be hard to do in subspace sometimes, so we're going to use the color system, green means keep going, yellow means pause, red means stop, ok?"

"Ok," he says. She said she wants him to talk, and he will give her whatever she wants.

"Good," she says. "We'll talk more about boundaries before we get to some of this painplay stuff. And I see you want my cock, is that right?"

He gasps. _Use your words, Booker, use your goddamn words._ He finally chokes out, "I really, really do."

The way she smiles at that makes him feel like his soul is ascending to a higher plane. Sharklike, but loving, and so _Nile_.

"It's late," she's saying, "and this is new, so tonight we're going to start simple. I want to watch you get yourself off. I want to sit here fully dressed while you show me what you like. And then I want you to take all my clothes off and go down on me until I come at least twice. How does that sound?"

"Merde, Nile," he breathes. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, gorgeous. Whenever you're ready."

He has half a mind to unzip his pants right now and get going, no lube, no preamble. But he wants to give her a little bit of a show. He wants to make this so good for her, whatever echo he can manage of how good she's making this for him. So he leans into her and asks softly, "Can I kiss you?"

She nods and leans in to meet him.

Her lips are so soft. He can feel her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. Booker is going to lose his goddamn mind.

He lets himself get lost in kissing her, just a little bit. And then he gets up off the couch and does as she's asked.

Once he's good and naked, he goes to the holopanel by the bed to turn down the lights. He didn't think to pack lube, so he points at her jar of coconut oil, gets her nod of permission, scoops out a dollop. And then he gets his hand around his cock.

She's watching him so intently. The look in her eyes makes his breath catch. It's how she examines art, it's how she focuses when she's cleaning her guns. He told her he doesn't want to be objectified or depersonalized or anything like that — and from somebody else, that look might make him feel that way, but not Nile.

When he presses his thumb into his frenulum, when he gives his balls a few gentle bounces in his cupped hand, he sees her eyes tracking it all and filing away the intel. Her gaze makes him feel _treasured_.

He starts to feel just a shade overwhelmed by how fucking _lucky_ he is. Closing his eyes helps, and before long he's coming all over his hand and stomach and — oops — the likely very expensive hardwood floor.

Before he can start to feel any shame about it, Nile is telling him how good he is, how much she loved watching him. She tells him to clean himself up, clean up the floor. And then she's taking the hand he offers her, and she's letting him unbutton her shirt and kiss his way down to an absolute work of art of a lacy bra.

Maybe she did change clothes before dinner. Or maybe she wore this lingerie through hours of meetings in anticipation of this moment.

He musters every bit of self-control he has left to sit her down on the bed, slide off her heels, take off her pants, and neatly drape her clothes over a chair so they don't wrinkle.

She wasn't kidding about taking a while to come at first. Every moment of the next two hours he spends licking and sucking and nuzzling and pressing his fingers into her and rubbing his beard in all the places that make her gasp, in service of just one orgasm for her, and a while later two, and then not long after, three, is the best moment of his life.

* * *

"I see you and Zari worked things out."

Booker is standing on one of the more disgusting yachts he's ever seen, and certainly the most disgusting one he's ever boarded without multiple weapons and a detailed plan to do violence. Jimena greeted him with a big smile and a hug earlier, and now they're posted up on a quiet part of the deck near the stern while their partners are off networking.

"We did," he tells her. "Thank you for hearing me out, for all of your advice."

"We trophy wives must stick together, yes?"

He laughs. 

"I'm so happy for you, Sébastien."

"Thank you," he says. "I'm glad to have made friends with you — all this corporate such and such is far more manageable with a friend to gossip with. You're sure your husband isn't fussed about you spending so much time with me?"

"Oh no, Julián loves it when I make hot young friends. It's a power trip thing, that I come home to him."

Booker blushes bright red.

"Oh, does Zari have a power trip thing as well?"

Booker can't meet her eyes, and Jimena makes it look glamorous when she about doubles over laughing at him.

* * *

Nile had pulled him into the shower after they got back from their afternoon of capitalist "fun" in the sun, and what started with hungry kisses turned quickly to shrieks of "sunscreen tastes bad!"

If she weren't immortal, Nile's beautiful dark skin would only give her a few SPF worth of sun protection, so when servers distributed tubes of sunscreen a few hours into the seafaring, Booker insisted on covering her just as much as she covered him. The work-safe reason to get his hands all over her was a blessing, but sunscreen really does taste awful, and no shower sex was had in their hurry to scrub off the offending taste.

Now Booker is holding Nile in his arms, reading over her shoulder as she pokes at her tablet to look at options for tonight. The resort is providing shuttles to and from downtown Napa throughout the evening, and into the wee hours for those who might want to go clubbing.

Nile's not big on fine dining, and Booker _hates_ exorbitant prices for so little food, so for dinner they'll be seeking out street food or hole-in-the-wall places, whatever smells good as they walk by. This has a side benefit of all but guaranteeing they'll avoid dining near any of Nile's shitty coworkers.

"If we can find a dance spot with decent music, and none of the creeps are there, I really want to go dancing," Nile says. "You game?"

He brushes her locs aside and lays a few soft kisses to the side of her neck. "I'd love to."

It's not even 6 pm yet, and there's no point in trying to go clubbing before 11, so Nile pulls up the resort amenities schedule and finds there's an intense-looking yoga class at 6:30. She tilts her head to see if Booker's in, which he is, and now they're signed up.

They _could_ just fuck all evening. If the order Nile placed this morning had arrived already, that is exactly what they would be doing. But they have a whole week left of this bizarre corporate vacation, and they have years, they have _centuries_ to explore each other's bodies. A little anticipation could be fun.

By the time they make it downtown, Booker has had a second shower and they're both wrung-out and starving after ninety minutes of especially athletic yoga. They hit up half a dozen taco trucks and two mom and pop takeout places over a few hours of walking around seeing what they see. Alec and Parker had the same idea — they keep running into each other, and just when Nile suggests they all walk together for a while, Alec says they're spending the night in San Francisco and a local friend will be picking them up any minute.

Parker has a short phone call with someone named Elliot, and then Nile finds herself being walked to a bahn mi place that smells incredible. She and Booker wave goodnight to their maybe-friends who are definitely up to something, and it's starting to get cold out so they decide to sit in the restaurant for a while and have some tea with their sandwiches before it's a reasonable time to seek out a dance floor.

* * *

"What, it's oldies night here too?" Nile shouts at Booker while they wait to get a bartender's attention.

"Maybe it's the same DJ," Booker shouts back with a quirk of his lips. The music is _very_ similar to the pool party a few nights ago. All the hits from Nile's youth.

They find a booth to curl up in while they sip their drinks and acclimate to the small-town nightclub ambience. Booker has treated himself to a double of top-shelf bourbon, since in the country of its birth it doesn't cost a month's rent with the addition of import taxes. Nile is continuing her first-time-in-California tourist aesthetic with an enormous frozen strawberry margarita.

They spot Pedro and Luke dancing, and Gina and Reggie down at the other end of the bar. They all seem to be in their own bubbles. No sign of any of the office creeps.

It's way too loud to talk, so they cuddle and people-watch and sip their drinks. When Booker's rocks glass is resting empty on the table and Nile is bored with her sugar and tequila slurry, she turns to catch his eye and tilts her head towards the dance floor.

Nile went to her senior prom with a boy she'd been dating for a month, and there's something similar now about the butterflies of dancing in public with someone you're newly in love with. Hilariously different too, of course. This ancient white boy looks good in her arms, and he's sharp as fuck with traditional ballroom dancing, but he does not know how to dance by himself to modern music. But as good a time Nile had falling in puppy love with Sean, she was a very different person at 17, and she likes who she is now.

Just normal reminiscences as the crowd goes wild over a fucking Katy Perry song. Literally the one about California girls that was big her senior year.

It must be around midnight, because the small club is starting to fill up. Gina and Reggie waved bye to them a while ago on their way out the door, and Nile hasn't seen more of Pedro and Luke or anybody else she knows.

The crowded dance floor is a great excuse to press herself closer to Booker.

He's biting his lip like he wants to kiss her.

 _Fuck_ it would feel so good to just throw her corporate badass persona out the window and make out with him in public like the teenager she was when most of these songs were new. It's not worth making the rest of this mission difficult, if any Graham McCain people are here to see her, but when they're home—

The DJ is fading in a track that Nile vaguely remembers was on one of her Personal Time Wink Wink playlists back in her early 20s.

Booker's hand at the back of her neck tightens ever so slightly, and his other hand is sliding down from her waist to her ass.

Nile doesn't only want to make out on this dance floor.

She's wearing a dress. It's crowded. They could—

Nile leans up and says into Booker's ear, "Follow me."

It's twenty-fucking-forty, and in all but the oldest buildings public bathrooms are gender-neutral single-stall rooms with real doors. Nile sends up a quick prayer, touches her cross necklace with her fingertips, in gratitude that there's no bathroom line. As is becoming a theme with them, the second she gets the door locked her lips are on his.

The music is nearly as loud in the bathroom as it is out on the dance floor, and Booker's moving his hips somewhere between dancing and rutting as she presses him into the door.

She runs a hand down his chest to his belt. Tucks two fingers in his waistband and tugs. "You want to?"

"Please," he whimpers.

Her dress has a wide neckline and he goes to town kissing every inch of exposed skin while she gets his belt unbuckled, his jeans unzipped.

She's about to tug his jeans and boxer briefs down his hips when she pauses. "C'mere," she says, and leads him to crowd behind her in front of the mirror. "I want to watch you fuck me. Color?"

"Green. Fuck, Nile, green."

He tilts her face towards him with a finger under her chin and kisses her deep and filthy, and then he's guiding her with hands on her hips to bend over in front of the mirror. He runs kisses down the back of her legs as he slides her panties down to lay around her ankle boots, safely up off the floor but well out of his way.

When she can see his face again, he's flushed, mouth hanging open like he has half a mind to kneel on this dirty floor and eat her out under her dress. But he's a very good boy who does what she asks. So he pushes his pants and boxer briefs down his thighs and lifts up her dress just enough out of the way to slide his cock right in.

She watches him close his eyes and swallow hard before he gets himself together enough to move. She matches the roll of his hips and holds onto the edge of the sink.

 _Fuck_ , he's leaning over her to kiss at her neck— he's _grazing his teeth across her neck_. He's got one hand gripping her hip like his life depends on it, and just when she thinks this can't get any better, he lays his other hand flat just above her clit.

"Please," she says, she _whines_ , and she doesn't know if he heard her but he doesn't make her say it again.

He runs two knuckles down either side of her clit to where he's slowed his thrusts to a languid slide. She whimpers when he pulls out, but his fingers slip inside just a moment later, and he strokes slow but firm against her, getting his fingers nice and wet. His mouth has stilled in a sloppy kiss at the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

He takes his goddamn time pulling his fingers out of her pussy, slides them back up to her clit— _fuck_ his cock is pressing back inside her, his knuckles are swiping firm across her clit how he's learned she loves once she's good and messy, he's starting to slam into her harder, _oh_ —

Nile feels a sudden warmth and an easing up of pressure inside her. Booker stills his hips but keeps moving his fingers, and he— _fuck_ — he _bites down at the base of her neck_.

She comes with a shout that Booker definitely hears, because when he lets go of her neck and looks up to meet her eyes, he's smug as shit. They probably heard her out on the dance floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If either Nile or Booker likes or does a sex thing in this fic that you like or do in real life, and you think its appearance here is because you have maybe had sex with me, please kindly LET US NEVER SPEAK OF THIS. (And thanks for the memories!)
> 
> People with dark skin still need sunscreen! Melanin provides some SPF protection but [dermatologists say even very dark-skinned Black people still need additional SPF.](https://www.blackgirlsunscreen.com/melanin-is-amazing-but-i-need-sunscreen/) Please [love your own and your loved ones' skin](https://www.oprahmag.com/beauty/skin-makeup/g26719162/best-sunscreen-for-dark-skin-tones/) at least as much as we all love Nile!
> 
> The final prose doesn't really make it clear, but I had in mind for the clubbing scene that Nile would be wearing [Kiki's gorgeous yellow dress from the Zoom press tour](https://nevermindirah.tumblr.com/post/627034322147442688/kiki-layne-the-old-guard-press-tour-looks).
> 
> The headcanon that Booker is the most epic cheat at cards in all of human history is courtesy of my oldest and dearest fandom friend [Rubynye](https://rubynye.tumblr.com/). Booker's feelings about import taxes on bourbon are courtesy of the exceptionally kind and talented [mprosperossprite](https://mprosperossprite.tumblr.com/).
> 
> For this fic I've decided that immortals can't get pregnant or cause a pregnancy, and I've decided that Booker sustained a dick injury at some point a long time ago and decided not to re-up his circumcision when his foreskin grew back with the rest of him. I know several Jews with penises who think it's time for our people to stop this particular tradition — for anyone interested, [here's an overview from a reliable source](https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/jewish-opposition-to-circumcision-a-brief-history/). Heads up (😬) that fascists have been trying to co-opt and use for antisemitic legislative campaigns what ought to be a conversation among Jews and led by Jews with penises.
> 
> I wrote a yes-no-maybe list from Booker and Nile's perspectives, based on [this very good one from Bex Caputo](http://www.bextalkssex.com/yes-no-maybe/). Send me a Tumblr ask [@nevermindirah](https://nevermindirah.tumblr.com/) if you want a DVD extra of how Booker or Nile or both would respond to particular things on the list!
> 
> Oh, and Baruch Hashem basically means thank God in Hebrew. A siddur is a prayer book.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma biche is a French endearment that means doe — it's the cute kind of affectionate, like ma belle (my beauty) or ma truffe (my truffle), the kind of thing people often use to refer to chidren. There are other endearments one might use to be romantic (like mon ange, my angel) or sexy (mon désir, my desire). Ma biche sounds like bitch to many English speakers. File this knowledge away for later enjoyment. ([highlightcity_159](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlightcity_159) I'm so sorry for corrupting your generous French endearments education in this way!)
> 
> Content notes for this chapter: Someone asks Booker about kids, and there's brief discussion that his wife and children died. There's a detailed depiction of Nile experiencing top drop. Booker gives her lots of support.

Sunday dawns bright and warm, and Nile hasn't had a chance to go horseback riding yet during their stay, so they decide to go riding together before meeting up with Fatou and Moustapha for lunch. The ride is peaceful, the gorgeous scenery and clop-clop of the horses' hooves a reprieve from Vacation, Inc. that Nile didn't even realize she needed.

The way Fatou looks at her when they meet at the restaurant, the tone in her voice when she asks, "Are you young people enjoying the retreat?" — she definitely knows something's changed between Zari and Sébastien. She's level-headed enough not to go digging for more info about the change in vibe, though, and Nile loves her for it.

Nile will probably need to continue spending time with Fatou and her husband when they're back in Dakar after this trip, and Assane too, and probably some of the others they work with locally who weren't invited here. The point of Graham McCain dropping all this cash on a vacation for its top staff is to get them to build relationships, so they'll work longer hours, stay loyal to the company. Nile's intention to be disloyal has only intensified, but as much as she's nervous of the risks involved with forming attachments to mortals, she can't help but be glad for this growing friendship.

Lunch is lovely until Moustapha puts his foot in his mouth by asking when Zari and Sébastien are planning to have children. Booker chokes, of course he does, and Nile grabs his hand under the table just as he did for her when she was blindsided by that banana pudding.

"Sébastien is a widower," Nile says, quiet but firm. "His first wife and their children were killed in a car accident many years ago. I'm sure you can understand it's hard to talk about."

"Of course. I'm so sorry," Moustapha says.

"Thank you," Nile says. "We're glad for each other and the family we've built. Jarring subject change, we've been here more than a week and I'm still pinching myself that I'm finally visiting California. Have y'all done much travel, other than the regional circuit back home for work?"

Booker's breathing evens out as Moustapha starts to talk about taking Fatou all over Southeast Asia for their tenth wedding anniversary, in 2022 when the world was starting to climb out of the pandemic and hoteliers and tour guides were beyond thrilled to have them. Fatou turns out to have very specific memories of food she ate two decades ago. It's really sweet, watching them.

* * *

"Thank you for handling that, earlier," Booker says as they're walking the long way from the restaurant back to their suite.

They're holding hands, fingers interlaced, and Nile gives his hand a squeeze.

"Of course, babe," she says. "I've got your back, you've got mine."

"I'm sure the others have mentioned," he says slowly, "that they've adopted orphans over the years. Not since I've been around. It's not something I'll be ready for anytime soon, but I think about it sometimes. Someday I think I'd like to talk about it, with everyone, and now especially with you."

"C'mere," Nile says, and pulls him in for a tight hug. "No rush," she says into his shoulder. "Someday I'd like to talk about it too."

Getting that off his chest does him a lot of good, from the look of him after she pulls back from the hug. He takes her hand and spends the rest of the walk taking a page out of Fatou's book with stories of the most memorable things he's eaten in the past century.

There are four days left of this trip, and Nile needs to get a clear overall picture of what intel she's collected so far and what's a priority to dig for while she's got a captive audience. Booker's kept his ears open and has some details to contribute. They spend an hour or so building a map of the company's major players.

Booker discovers that one of the many things the holopanels by the bed can do is detach from the wall and share data with the projector screen via near-field communication. One of the many things about their friendship unchanged by the last few days is geeking out. When he shows Nile, she shrieks, "We live in the _future_ , Book!"

Once Nile's gotten the squealing out of her system, she starts using one of the holopanels to essentially write digital sticky notes and place them all over the projector screen.

Booker figures out how to drag a holopanel from one spot to another to draw an arrow, and Nile smacks a big noisy kiss on his cheek for his efforts. It makes it a lot easier to make notes about people's relationships within the company, who's close, who hates each other, who owes who a favor.

Ok, so maybe they spend half an hour building a map of dirt on evil capitalists, and the rest of the time they're just kids playing with their new toys.

Speaking of new toys.

Booker has flopped on the bed, and the hem of his polo shirt is riding up to show a strip of belly.

Nile checks the time. Nearly three hours until dinner — another cookout, followed by outdoor movie night.

"Hey, sweetheart," she says in the quiet, confident tone that's becoming her bedroom voice. "I think we've done enough work for now. You wanna play?"

He leans up on his forearms so he can look at her. So he can smirk at her. "What do you have in mind?"

"You were so good with your horse this morning. So patient. I want to see how well you can control yourself for me. Think you can do that?"

His face lights up. "I'll be good."

"Take your shirt off," she says, and he does. She moves to stand between his legs and takes her time getting her hands all over his chest before pulling him up for a kiss.

Nile lets herself get nice and worked up as she kisses him, as the idea for what comes next takes shape in her head. Booker's hands feel so good across her back. She's going to miss that touch when she gives him his next set of instructions.

She's going to miss rutting up against his thigh. God _damn_ , if she's gonna do this, she needs to do it now before she gets too carried away where she is.

"I want you to strip for me and stand with your hands behind your back. I'm going to touch myself and you're only allowed to watch. Ok?"

 _Fuck_ , his sub face is the _best thing she has ever seen_.

He's off the bed and stripped bare in record time. She takes her own clothes off slowly, and she can tell from the look on his face that he's doing his very best to keep his hands where they're supposed to be, but she catches him make a move towards her when she unclasps her bra.

"Sébastien, hand me your belt."

He does.

"Do I need to get you on your knees, or can you behave?"

"I can behave."

If he did need to get on his knees for this, then she would get to shove her tits in his face, and this was her idea but it doesn't mean she's not craving his touch. She makes the most of the opportunity to press up against his chest as she loops the belt around his wrists and slides the buckle closed.

She leans up to kiss him, rough and wet and over too soon. He's a very good boy who doesn't try to chase her mouth.

This is going to be so worth the patience, on both their parts.

Nile grins at him and blows him one more kiss, and then she turns around and shimmies out of her panties on her way to their bed. She gets herself settled on her forearms and knees, ass up so her good boy can see how much she's enjoying herself.

The sheets feel so good against her skin. She brushes her tits into the sheets and Booker's gasp at the sight raises goosebumps all over her skin.

It's not long before she's wiggling her thighs together seeking friction. Nile presses her forehead down into the bed and gets her hand where she needs it.

She needs _more_.

"I don't have enough hands," she whines. She needs more friction on her nipples than the sheets can provide, and she only has two hands. So she spreads her knees wide for balance and presses the side of her face hard into the bed as she finally gets a hand on her tits.

She hasn't looked at Sébastien since she kissed him and walked away but she has _heard_ him. Every whimper and choked-off groan goes right to her pussy. And every muttered "fuck," every tilt of her hips has him making more noise, in a feedback loop of _want please more yes God y e s f u c k_.

Another few minutes and she's coming, her knuckles rubbing hard and rhythmic against her clit and one nipple.

 _Fuck_ that felt good. She takes a minute to gasp into the sheets, hands gentled but still resting against her pussy and her tit to savor every drop of her aftershocks.

When she catches her breath enough to sit up, she sees Booker looking absolutely _wrecked_. She holds his gaze while she brings her hand up to her mouth and licks the taste of her own pussy off her fingers.

He's mouthing at the air like he could catch a taste of her that way, but he is very, very good, and he makes no other move.

"Come here," she says.

His cock bobs a little as he walks up to where she's sprawled on the bed, and she sees he's messy with precum.

"You're so good for me, sweetheart," she says, and once he's close enough she leans up to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Did you like watching me?"

He bites his lip, hard, as he nods.

"Would you like to fuck me now?"

His mouth drops open and he swallows hard before nodding again.

"I just did _so much work_ ," she says, "and it felt so good, but I don't wanna work anymore. I want to lie back and enjoy you fucking me as slow and as hard as you can bear without coming. If I untie you, will you fuck me like that until I come, baby? Can you be a good boy and keep yourself under control?"

"Yes," he says. "Nile, please, let me." The last thing he needs to do right now is beg. The joyful desperation in his eyes is fucking transcendent.

She holds his gaze as she runs her hands down his arms and unbuckles the belt. It falls to the floor with a clatter. He doesn't move his hands.

"Sébastien, sweetheart," she says, "you can move."

He reaches up to hold her face in his hands, and just when she thinks he's going to kiss her, he pauses, closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Like he's centering himself, or taking in the scent and the feel of her, or both.

"Scoot up the bed and lie back, ma biche."

The absurd endearment lights her skin on fire. Leave it to her gorgeous nerd to come up with a _pun_ to call her as a title of respect for her role as his Domme. It's got her pussy clenching before he's even inside her.

She gets herself nice and comfortable on her back and crooks a finger to tell him she's ready for him.

He's quiet as he settles on top of her, focused. She leans up and captures his mouth in a kiss, slow, hard, messy, exactly how she wants him to fuck her. He runs his hand up and down her side as he matches the pace of her kiss.

Their hips start to roll against each other until all of a sudden he stills. His fingers dig in at her hip for a long moment, and then — _yes_ — he's taking himself in hand and guiding his way to her entrance.

The feel of the velvety head of his cock sliding up into her is so _good_. And he had been paying attention earlier — he's _such a good boy_ — because his free hand is snaking up to palm at her tits.

" _God_ ," she moans as she feels his balls slap against her ass. He stills for a long moment before he starts to move.

Nile splays her legs out wide and reaches for his ass with both hands to move him to _just_ the right angle— _OH_. "Right there," she says.

His mouth latches onto the base of her neck, just like last night in the club bathroom, only this time, no teeth. His hand caressing her breast is so gentle but she can feel the tension in his other hand by her shoulder, the hand that's offsetting some of his weight. She loves how heavy he feels on top of her, but she knows it's a tall order she's asked of him, fucking her like this but not allowed to come.

She loses track of the thought as his ass flexes under her hands, as his little grunts press delicate puffs of air into her neck, as his cock presses firm and sure and so, so slow into her clit from inside of her. It's the wrong angle for her to get any attention on her clit where it peeks out from the top of her folds, and — _fuck_ — this is so new she hasn't even gotten a chance to show him exactly where her g spot is.

Her Sébastien is dragging his cock slow and hard across _everywhere_ that might be her g spot and it's so good and so frustrating and so _good_ and— _fuck_ —

Booker is doing _everything in his power_ to hold on and give Nile what she's asked for, and he knows he's gotten her there when her hands go lax and her breath stutters. She sounds so beautiful—

 _Merde_ , she's clenching in tight pulses around him, and if he lets himself really _feel_ that ridge of the wall of her pussy that's pressing right under the collar of his cock he is going to lose it he is going to come right here and now but she asked him to keep control of himself and he is going to do exactly. fucking. that.

He doesn't realize he's crying into the crook of her neck until she starts brushing his hair off of his forehead. She's whispering how good he is, how happy he makes her, and he's _so hard_ still inside her and he doesn't think he can hold on if he keeps telling her how good he makes her feel, _mon Dieu_ she is—

"Sweetheart," she's saying. She's rubbing gently at his flank. "Take what you need."

He gasps in a few breaths. He knows he's making noise but he's too far gone to tell what he sounds like. And then he lets himself move. Short thrusts are all he can handle, finally letting himself _feel_ every millimeter of muscle inside her, still dripping wet, against his shaft, his frenulum, his slit. He eventually comes like that with a quiet moan, his face still pressed into her neck and her hand resting firm at the base of his skull.

When he finally pulls out, Nile's whole body twitches, and her hips rock up into him like she's ready to go again. He would do _anything_ for her, but he'll need a minute, maybe he could use his hands—

"Fuck," she's saying. "You're so good for me, sweetheart. Hey," and she catches his face in her hands. "Look at me." He meets her eyes and she smiles at him like the sunrise after a storm. "You're so fucking good," she says, quiet and slow and so warm he's going to melt. "I could probably go again, but I think I'll save that for later. How about we take a shower and curl up for a nap?"

"I'd love that," he says.

She wipes away his tear tracks with her thumbs and places a gentle kiss on each of his cheeks before asking him to follow her into the bathroom.

* * *

Booker set the alarm to wake them up from their nap, so Nile is startled awake with the electronic wail of "Caaaaaaaaalifornia Loooove." She grumbles into her pillow.

"I know," Booker grumbles next to her. "I don't want to get up either."

"Can't this company just decide they want to stop exploiting people already so I can go back to sleep?"

Booker kisses her on the shoulder, and again on the cheek.

"We don't have to get out of bed just yet," he says.

Nile's face is still pressed into her pillow. "I like where your head's at, but I'm not awake enough."

"I meant we could lay here and hang out. You know, have a conversation."

She finally turns to face the afternoon. "You worried I only want you for one thing anymore?"

"I know what you're really after is my travel photography portfolio," he says, matching her teasing tone.

Sébastien Lykonnos is a travel photographer according to the very shitty website they threw together for his cover. They didn't bother to plant credits anywhere else. Booker's dabbled in photography for real over the years, and a few of his more mediocre shots made the cut for the website, but most of the photos in his "portfolio" were taken — badly — by Nicky.

"The conversation at lunch got me thinking," he says. "You haven't been back in the US in a while, and God knows when we'll be back again. Are there foods you miss that you'd like to have again while we're here? Other America things you want to see or do?" Quieter, he adds, "Anything like the banana pudding that you'd rather avoid?"

Nile brushes his hair from where it's fallen into his eyes. "I love you," she says. "Anything my mom learned how to make from her mom is liable to have me losing my shit, but one thing this bourgie-ass corner of California does not excel at is soul food, so I think we're safe. We eat a lot of what that stuff descended from in Dakar anyway, it takes some of the sting out of it."

"Ok," he says. "If anything comes up, you know you need only ask."

"I mean, if you can find a place that'll deliver real Chicago-style deep dish, I'll love you forever." She pecks him on the tip of his nose. "Just kidding, I'm gonna do that anyway. But just in case you're able to miracle me up some deep dish, pepperoni and peppers and onions, please."

"You got it." He kisses her, on the lips but chaste. Just talking is nice, even now that they're doing a hell of a lot more in this bed.

"How about you?" Nile asks. "Is there food or other stuff you miss from France, or old-timey stuff?"

"Old-timey stuff?" he says, eyebrows rising.

"I don't know, maybe all these oldies playlists have that sort of thing on my mind." All of a sudden she's not looking at him.

He knows her, inside and out. He notices. "You have something else on your mind."

"Maybe," she says.

"You know you can tell me anything, Nile."

"Yeah, I know." She licks her lips, takes a breath. "How would you feel about me wearing a corset?"

Booker's jaw drops. "I would feel very good about that."

Her smile is hesitant. "Yeah? It wouldn't, uh—"

"Oh," he says. "Mon ange, you're not in any kind of competition with Mélanie, if that's what you're worried about. Does loving Quỳnh like a sister mean you love your brother any less?"

"No. It doesn't," she says. "Ok."

"Lingerie fashion changed a lot over the few hundred years that what you think of as corsets were common," he says. "Maybe check out the 1870s through the turn of the century? For both our sakes, yours more than mine."

Yeah, let's definitely keep that Gone With the Wind shit far away from this.

"And just so we're clear," he adds, "I am _very_ interested in the idea of you in a corset. If it makes you happy, of course."

She leans in to kiss him.

They get ever so slightly carried away, and about ten minutes later Nile learns that Booker set them a second alarm. Her internal sense of "you're about to be late" would've blared before too much longer, but this way they don't have to scramble.

They're about to leave the room for dinner when Nile says, "Hey, Book? How many belts did you bring on this trip?"

"Why, do you think a different one would go better with this?" he asks, gesturing to his outfit.

"No, that's not why," she says. "C'mon, you can tell me about my options on the way."

" _Your_ options—?"

She smiles like she's going to devour him whole.

* * *

Booker needs a minute to, ah, get himself together after the conversation they've just had, so Nile is by herself walking out onto the patio to find their table for tonight's cookout. She makes commiserating eye contact with Martha but picks up her pace — no need for both of them to be stuck pretending to be interested in whatever Nile's boss and his wife think is interesting dinner conversation. Nile should really find some one-on-one time with Martha before the week is out, but it's not gonna happen tonight.

She spots Charlotte waving at her from across the patio and breathes a sigh of relief.

By the time Booker appears, Charlotte and Seth are deep into a story about their Saturday evening adventures, which are orders of magnitude tamer than fucking in a club bathroom. Nile notices Booker's hair is damp at the temples, either from sweat or splashing cold water on his face, and she hopes she's doing a decent job of biting down on her smirk.

Dinner is tasty but unremarkable, and dessert is kettle corn served in paper bags movie theater style that they're invited to take over to the field of blankets that have been laid out in front of an outdoor movie screen.

The movie is Legally Blonde 3: Constitutionally Blonde, where Elle Woods is appointed to the US Supreme Court to replace Amy Coney Barrett, who has to retire early due to long-term chronic effects of covid. Nicky is obsessed with these movies and insisted they do a trilogy marathon when the third one came out, and Nile remembers it being funny, and satisfying to see a majority-female Supreme Court on the big screen in addition to the real-life one her problematic fave Kamala hooked her up with. But it's such a white girl movie and Nile has much better ways to spend the rest of her evening.

No communication necessary, she and Booker both gravitate to the last row of blankets. Once everyone around them seems to be absorbed either in the movie or their own quiet conversations, Nile takes his hand and they make their way back to their suite.

* * *

"I've got an idea for tonight," Nile says as she's unlocking their door. "I'm not gonna tell you what it is just yet, let's talk about a few things first. Get us both some water and come join me on the couch, ok?"

Booker does as she asks.

"Thanks, babe," she says when he hands her a glass of water.

"What's on the agenda, boss?" he asks, and he's smirking but his tone is all business. Like he doesn't want to get too excited too soon.

She loves that he's reading between the lines, obeying not just her instructions but their implications as well.

But right now isn't the time to be getting mushy. "Painplay," she says, light, straightforward, with no hint of a tease in her voice.

"Do you want me to get the yes no maybe list?" He hasn't sat down yet, perhaps anticipating this.

"No, I remember what you wrote, but thank you. Now sit down."

She pats the couch beside her, and he sits, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his thighs. His shoulders are hunched a little in that way he does when he's trying to look smaller, but she doesn't get a nervous vibe. He looks like he's ready to take notes as she dictates a memo.

"You wrote down that you're interested in mild to moderate pain. Pinching, slapping, maybe some spanking? More of a sting than a thud, right?"

He looks up at her from under his lashes. "I could go for a little of that sometimes."

They're both making an effort to keep the tension at a slow simmer, but the longer this silence drags on as they smirk at each other, the more their gazes turn from playful to heated.

"I, ah," Booker starts, then waits for Nile to give him a nod before he goes on. "I might have had a dirty thought or two about those electrified batons of yours."

"Huh," Nile says. She makes a show of thinking that over.

"You also said," she continues, "that you might want to be a little bit of a brat sometimes."

He smiles bright and mischievous.

"I love you, but you do have a tendency to be a dramatic little shit. So." She pauses for some drama of her own. "What do you think about disobeying me on purpose, as a way of requesting a spanking?"

He just about growls out his, "Yes, please."

Fuck, that _face_ of his.

Nile stands up and walks towards her suitcase. "We need to talk about a few more things before you go getting that look on your face, sweetheart."

"Understood," he says, and there's still gravel in his voice, but his posture changes as he reels himself back in.

Nile fishes one of her satin scarves from her suitcase. "I don't want to actually hurt you. Like obviously we'd heal, but I don't want the experience of causing you suffering." She pauses after gathering her locs loosely in a hair tie at the crown of her head, looks him in the eye. She knows he knows how every life she takes haunts her. It probably goes without saying that sadism is _not for her_ , but she needs to say it out loud, and she needs to make absolute sure that he hears her.

Booker's mouth twists up into a heavy little smile. He nods.

She takes a deep breath and starts to wind her scarf around her hair. "Ok, back to fun stuff. What do you think about a harsh pinch to the nipple or something like that if you're having a hard time focusing?"

His eyes flash. "I like the sound of that."

"And what do you think about me giving you permission sometimes to be a little bratty, and once I've done that, if you don't do what I say, I might smack you."

His throat works for a moment before he manages to breathe out, "I want that."

"We're still negotiating, don't go getting excited, you understand me?"

"Yes, Nile," he says, the change in tone jarring and exactly as she ordered.

"Good. If you tell me to stop, I'm gonna stop. If you whimper, that could mean a lot of things, so I'll ask you for a color pretty frequently, especially the first few times we try this. And we're gonna debrief. Might need a full-on after-action review. Is there anything I should know about aftercare when we try this?"

"Just the usual — cuddles, tell me I'm good. Or if 'good' doesn't quite fit the mood after I've been a brat," he says, eyes glinting, "tell me I'm pretty." He looks down at his feet, but it's clearly a pause, he's got more he wants to say. So she waits.

"If you hurt me by accident, really hurt me," he says, "I want you to know right now that I will be reassuring you that it you didn't mean it. I'll be ok. _We_ will be ok. I don't ever want you to feel like I need something you're going to have to ask God to forgive you for. You understand?"

Now it's Nile's turn to swallow hard. "Yeah," she says quietly.

"Good," he says. "You're amazing, Nile, you're perfect. If by some bizarre happenstance I lose a limb or something while we're playing, it might take me a second or two to catch my breath, but I swear to you. The moment I can talk, I will be reassuring _you_ , and you will not be able to dissuade me."

"I love you," she says. She's rooted to the spot. Her hair is safely tucked away and she doesn't have anything to do with her hands. All she can do is stand there, and breathe, and soak in the utter devotion of this beautiful, ridiculous man.

He gives her one of his softest, most intimate smiles. "I love you too. Since we're not playing yet, can I ask you to come sit with me?"

She nods and makes her way back to the couch.

"It's been quite a whirlwind 72 hours," he says as he drapes his arm around her shoulders and tugs her to lean back into the couch with him.

She snorts. Three fucking days. After twenty fucking years.

"I've been thinking," he says, "about how much you're talking about giving me. You're shouldering so much responsibility already — this op, taking over for Andy. Being such a good friend to all of us. You've been far more generous with me than I had any right to hope for, for as long as we've known each other. Are you really ok with all this work, ordering me around like this?"

Nile burrows her face into his shoulder and takes a few deep breaths.

"Sébastien, we have a lot in common, but I don't need all the same things you do. Don't take this wrong, but I was raised not to trust what white people say. You're welcome to spin poetry about me if you want, and you're welcome to indulge that romantic streak I know you have, but I don't need any of that. I care about what people do. Not just how they treat me — how they _react_ to me. To who I really am, not just the idea of me they've got in their heads. When it comes down to it, a lot of people in my life have said they respect me and then turned around and done exactly what I told them not to do. You do what I say in the field because you know I make good calls. You've only ever pushed back when you had good reason to believe I'd missed something important, and even when you disagree with me, you fall in line because you trust me. You _appreciate my leadership_. Don't discount how much that means to me."

His hand rubbing slowly up and down her back feels so good. She could hear how his breathing changed as she said all that, the way he's ready to fight God to make people listen to her.

"I really, _really_ appreciate your leadership," he says, just rumbly enough to start to change the air around them. And once he feels her breathing change under his hand, he adds, "Ma biche."

She hums as she feels something that had been a little loose inside her — a little uncertainty, maybe, that had been rattling around the past few days — settle quietly into place. And then she leans up to kiss him.

Negotiations are over for the night and within minutes Nile is in Booker's lap, feeling his dick harden through their clothes as she kisses him to within an inch of his life.

Time has no meaning here, with Booker's mouth on hers, his scruff brushing against her cheeks, his hand strong on her thigh where her short dress is riding up. She could do this for hours. Hell, she could probably come like this.

How does she want to come tonight? The idea she'd teased when they first got back to the room tonight is lightning-hot as a fantasy, but now that they're here, now that she could say the word and have him where she wants him, it's not what she wants. At least not right now.

She wants to get her mouth on his cock.

Another time, she wants to get her mouth on his cock, tell him not to move his hips, and then smack his ass when he inevitably jerks halfway down her throat anyway. Except it's not inevitable. He wants _so desperately_ to be good for her.

It may take her a while to come up with a scenario where Booker, for all he says he wants to try bratting, would actually be willing to disobey her.

The way he's panting desperately into the spot just below the corner of her jaw snaps her out of the veritable spreadsheet of sex positions running through her mind. And suddenly she knows wants to do with him tonight.

"Pick me up," she says.

He obeys.

He doesn't go anywhere, just stands with her securely in his arms. She hasn't told him where to go.

"I've been thinking," she says, "about how much I want to blow you. I think I'd like to tie you up for that."

"Merde, Nile."

"Set me down on the bed and then go bring me your belts."

"Oui, ma biche."

He sets her gently on the bed and gives her a soft kiss before going to retrieve all six of the belts currently nestled in his suitcase. Varying thickness and pliability, patent leather and matte.

Nile hums to herself as she runs each one through her fingers, unhurried, while Booker stands patiently in front of her. "You forgot one," she says eventually, eyes locked on his before raking down his body to the velvet-soft belt he's wearing. He's had it for decades. It will do very nicely.

He takes it off slowly and lays it in her hands. And then, with a quirk of his eyebrow to ask for permission, which she grants with a filthy smile, he slowly takes off everything else.

"C'mere," she says, and when he moves close enough to kiss, she drapes the belt loosely around the back of his neck. "You wear it well," she says. Their lips are so close, but she doesn't close the last breath of distance between them. "Lay down on your back. I'm going to tie your left wrist to the headboard."

He waits just a moment, as if savoring one last shared breath, before obeying her. Interesting. She files that away for later consideration.

God _damn_ he looks good spread out on their bed like this. He's laid the belt neatly next to his left hand where it rests against the headboard.

"This belt really brings out your eyes, sweetheart," she says as she loops the leather firmly around his wrist. Her boy is nice and thick, and his belt fits around his wrist three times with room to spare to buckle it around a slat in the headboard. She lays a gentle kiss to the inside of his wrist before securing him where she wants him. "Does that feel ok?"

"Feels good," he says in a rumble, and _oh_ , his pupils are blown wide like she just injected her love for him in his veins.

Nile hums to herself as she takes in the sight of him. She's still fully clothed other than her bare feet — does she want to stay that way for now? His dick is flushed deep red and leaking precum, and she has half a mind to tear her clothes off and sink down on it right this minute, but she wants to taste him first. She brushes her knuckles across his cheek, thinks about kissing those plush lips of his. Instead she blows him a kiss, just like this afternoon. Somehow he finds it within himself to chuckle at the tease.

Merde, Booker cannot believe his fucking luck. Nile is so, so beautiful, and so _smart_ and kind and determined and funny and cool, and _he makes her feel good_. He doesn't know there will ever come a day when he's not bowled over by the enormity of it.

Nile is kissing her way down his bare chest because _she wants to suck him off_.

It's a miracle he didn't blow his load just from the feel of her wrapping his belt around his wrist. She hasn't taken off her dress, and he thinks if he can just focus on how the fabric drapes across her, how pretty that deep blue looks against her skin, he'll be able to—

He's not ashamed to admit that he shouts when Nile gets her mouth on his cock.

She's planting messy open-mouthed kisses across the tip, down the slit, around the ridge where his foreskin has pulled back. She hasn't asked about when exactly his foreskin grew back and now is very much not the time for that story. But he can feel her studying him, trying things and noting how he responds.

When she moves from dragging her lips across his skin in tests and teases, to cradling the tip of his cock with her tongue and sliding her lips down around him, he tilts his head back, eyes shut tight, and breathes as slowly as he can bear.

She doesn't try to take him deep, wraps her hand around the base of his cock but barely strokes up and down. She is focused so intently on learning what he tastes like, what the most sensitive skin on his entire body feels like against her tongue. He is losing his fucking mind.

Just as he starts to speak, "Nile, you feel so—" 

She starts to _suck_. The flat of her tongue is pressing into his frenulum and there should really be a sexier word for that because _holy fuck_ she is squeezing around the tip of him with her mouth just like she does with her pussy and she's _humming_ merde that feels so good she feels so good she sounds _happy_ that she's making him feel this good he's getting so close—

Booker cries as she pulls off of him.

"Are you— is— are you ok?" he gets out around his gasps for air.

"I'm so fucking good, sweetheart," she says, and when he manages to tilt his head enough to look at her, her smile is incandescent. "Hey," she says when he meets her eyes. "I want to come on your fingers. And then you can come inside me."

All he can do is nod.

He goes to help her out of her dress, and _oh_ , her mouth had felt so good he'd all but forgotten that _she's tied him to the bed_.

Just as that thought registers, he sees her shimmy out of her panties and crawl up to kneel by his side, dress still covering just as much as it did when they were surrounded by her coworkers. _Me foutre._

She takes his free hand in both of hers, plants soft kisses down the fingers and across his palm to his pulse point. "I want you to feel how hot you make me," she says. And then she guides his hand down to rest palm-up by his hip, moves his fingers to show him how she wants him to touch her, straddles his hand, and sinks down.

She's biting her lip, breathing heavy, and the low neckline of her dress combined with the cat-like way she's arching her back shows off so beautifully the way she's swallowing hard around how good his fingers feel inside her.

She's arranged him so that he can thumb at her clit while she rides his fingers, so he does exactly that.

They've come a long fucking way since Thursday, when it took her over an hour of sustained attention to come, because it can't be more than a few minutes before she's slamming her hips down onto his hand and pressing her clit hard into his thumb and clenching her fists into the sheets and _screaming_.

"Mmmmm," she says. "You're so good, going where I put you, giving me what I need. I think it's your turn to move me where you want me." She pauses to smirk at him, playful bordering on consensually mean. "If you can, that is."

Ma _biche_ as an American might mishear it, indeed.

Nile knows full well what he's capable of, so when he slides his fingers out of her pussy and lightning-fast grabs her around the waist and pulls her tight to him and rolls them over, it really shouldn't be that much of a surprise.

"Yes, fuck," she mutters as her back hits the mattress.

No feeling in the universe compares to this.

He presses his face into her shoulder to block out all distractions, because holding her here while she's wriggling like this, and trying to line himself up, all while one hand is tied to the fucking headboard—

Who is he kidding, the challenge is somehow making him even harder.

He finally moves his hips just the right way to brush the head of his cock through her folds, and dear fucking God does it feel good. He starts to push inside her, slow, savoring the feel of her pussy stretching around him, hungry for him just like when she had her mouth on him. As he slides deep where he's warm and welcome and loved, he looks up to find she's _grinning_ at him.

He keeps his one free hand firm at her waist, grounding them both as she wraps her arms tight around him, drags her nails through his scalp, digs her heels into his ass, writhes her hips to make this both as delicious and as challenging for him as possible. He wants to give her another orgasm before he lets himself come, he wants her to feel how he feels, like he's ascended to a higher plane, like this is where he was destined to be. He wants her to lose track of the roll of her hips because he's giving her just enough attention in all the right places, chest hair brushing across her nipples as his lower belly teases at her clit. He wants her to shatter under him because she knows that for the rest of their long, long lives he will hold her and —

Booker comes like a sigh, a groaning exhale, a boneless collapse into _yes, God, y e s_. The weight of him melts into her as he sinks into the floating soothing _good_ and he barely notices the sting of oversensitivity as she clenches around him in her own pleasure.

* * *

Of fucking course today's afternoon activity is leather crafts. Today, mere hours after Nile carefully wound his favorite belt around his wrist so she could tie him to their bed.

Booker is going to be hard as a rock in these jeans all goddamn day.

This turns out to be hyperbole, baruch Hashem. He finds previously untold depths of patience in order to apply all his focus to his chosen task: a handmade leather cuff that, when the time is right, he will offer to Nile as a symbol of his devotion.

Some of the others chatter the afternoon away but he barely hears it, let alone joins in. It's been a long, long time since he's worked in leather, longer since he's formed something with his own two hands that means this much to him. He vaguely notices the others are starting to gather up their things to leave, but he doesn't look up until he's finished neatly carving the four stars of the Chicago flag into the edge where the cuff will overlap on itself around his wrist.

Finally satisfied, he takes a step back from the table and stretches his arms over his head. The motion jolts him with its reminder of the stretch last night as he rocked into Nile with his arm still tied to the headboard.

He thinks he keeps it from showing plainly on his face. He hopes, at least. The spiritual experience that is sex with Nile is one fact of his life he loves keeping between the two of them.

When the class ends, Mickey swings an arm around his shoulder and suggests he join the small group he's gathering for happy hour. Booker's plan was to dash back to the room at top speed to jack off like a teenager, but if he does that and Nile also comes back to the room before dinner, they'll never make it to the post-modern brewpub or whatever ridiculous thing was listed at the bottom of today's itinerary. And for all that these people are his friends for only the moment, he likes spending time with them.

Luca's partner Alissa says something to him, and when he turns around to answer her, in the distance he sees Nile shaking hands with the leathersmith who'd led the class. He doesn't dare let himself consider just now what they might be talking about.

* * *

Well, now Booker knows what a post-modern brewpub is. A tavern, mostly, but with food too small and expensive for any self-respecting innkeeper, and tailored to bring out the flavors in the beer and not the other way around.

Booker does _not_ know what Nile talked to the leathersmith about. Based on her smile when he asked, the suspense will pay off handsomely, but perhaps not anytime soon.

Fair is fair: he hasn't told her what _he_ made in leatherworking class either.

"I have had a very long day," Nile is saying as they settle into their suite after the trip back from the brewpub. "I think it's pillow princess o'clock." She flops down on the bed with a sigh, locs fanning out beautifully around her.

He grabs the closest scarf he sees and hands it to her so she doesn't have to get back up for the rest of the night if she doesn't want to.

She squeezes his hand when he gives it to her. "Thank you, sweetheart. I want you to get us both undressed and eat me out til I scream. Then I want to see if you can fuck me and suck on my tits at the same time. And then you're gonna draw us a bath and you're gonna wash my hair. How's that sound, Sébastien?"

 _Merde_. "That would be my absolute pleasure," he says.

By the time he's finally slipping her panties down her thighs, he finds she's soaked them through. It takes his breath away, how good she smells, how happy she sounds as she grunts and whimpers. _He_ is making her feel like that.

He kisses his way slowly up her inner thigh, from just above her knee to his favorite spot in the entire universe. He thinks he might moan louder than she does when he finally swipes his tongue between her folds.

She wraps her legs around his head and he's never felt more cherished.

There is no salvation, no more an afterlife than there is an end to this one. There is only what he does here and now. Adonai continues to inscribe him in the Book of Life, year after year after year, every home temporary, another exile always looming. Until Nile.

If he were inclined to poetry he might try to set down in words what it means to him, how it feels to worship her like this. Now that he remembers how good it feels to make something beautiful with leather and thread, he might hand-bind the Song of Songs for her.

His beard is as soaked as her panties and she chases the feel of his scruff against her with the hungry tilt of her hips. He has no need for water, no need for air, just the feel of her clit between his lips, the feel and smell and taste of her slick overwhelming him.

She comes screaming with his nose pressed firm against the side of her clit and his tongue laving at the sensitive spot just inside her entrance.

"You're so good for me, sweetheart," she says. He revels in the praise like he's leaning into the sensation of her fingers raking through his hair. He's barely swiped at the evidence of his hard work all over his chin before she's tightening her fingers in his hair to move him to where she can kiss him.

He loves how matter-of-fact and unashamed she is, confident in what she wants and what she's willing to do to go after what she wants. And she wants _him_. He hopes she can feel how he treasures her in every press of his lips to hers.

His cock is so hard against her thigh, and he feels no urgency to do anything about that, happy to kiss her for hours if that's what she wants. The way she's rolling her hips indicates she feels otherwise.

By the time she whispers against his ear, "Fuck me," she's digging her fingers into the meat of his ass, _hard_.

He gasps, sharp. "More of that, if you want," he says, and her mouth drops open as if to taste the invitation.

She pinches his ass and he doesn't fucking know how to begin to describe the noise he makes, let alone how good the bright sting of it makes him feel.

Far be it from him to make her wait a moment longer for what she wants. In just a few days their bodies have attuned to each other, and he doesn't need to take a hand away from cradling her neck or teasing at the side of her breast to guide his cock inside her.

"Good," she whispers as he slides in. "Do you think you can get your mouth on my tits while you fuck me like this?"

He nods into one last gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. It takes just about every millimeter of flexibility his spine will allow to nuzzle at her breast, and it's more than worth it for the way she sighs. He traces lazily across her breasts with his tongue as he adjusts to the strain in his neck. And then he wraps his lips around one nipple, just as he had just done with her clit, and he starts to pull out and thrust back in.

Every last bit of her skin is soft, beautiful, majestic. But her tits are otherworldly, so, _so_ soft, and _so sensitive_. The impossible fantasy of fucking her and eating her pussy at the same time pales in comparison to the rush of what she's having him do right now.

She's arching up into him in a messy attempt at matching his pace that means she's not far from coming again, and she's starting to tweak at his nipples with the hand not digging delicious welts into his ass. He's dabbled in painplay before, but none of it can hold a damn candle to this lighthouse calling him home from a lonely sea.

Just as she starts to flutter and pulse around him, as he starts to tip over the edge to his own release, he registers that maybe he's got a little poetry in him after all. And then all he knows is he's warm and loved and _good_ and his entire being is on fire from the pleasure of her pussy around him and _her hand smacking firm and sharp across his ass_.

"Oh," he whispers as he comes back to himself. His face is pressed slack-jawed against the side of her breast and he can feel his cum sliding out of her pussy with his softening cock.

Her hand in his hair is tight, but not to guide him anywhere. She's—

He lifts his head to find she's crying. "Nile? Mon ange, what's wrong?"

She scrunches her face up, and no, she doesn't need to do that. There's not a single thing she should ever feel like she has to hide from him. "You're safe," he says. "I've got you. I'll hold you until you're ready to talk about it, or whatever would help, you need only ask."

"Shit," she says, and she swipes at her tears in frustration before covering her face with her hand. "You said you'd comfort me if this happened. I thought I'd— that I'd be—"

"You didn't hurt me, Nile, I swear." He _loved_ what they've just done, but that might not be reassuring right now, so instead of saying it he focuses on wrapping her up tight in his arms.

"I think I hurt _me_ ," she says eventually. "I don't want to be someone who hits someone they love."

 _Oh_. "You," he says, "are the kindest, brightest, _goodest_ person I've ever known. We don't ever need to do anything like that ever again."

She whimpers into the side of his neck. He holds her tight and murmurs soothing things in quiet French until she releases the last of the upset with a sigh.

"Do you still want me to draw you a bath?" he asks.

She does, so he does.

They spend nearly an hour in the oversized tub, holding each other, trading soft kisses, taking turns washing each other's hair. The first time Nile trusted him to wash her hair was a little over two years ago, after a mission where they'd gotten separated from the others on their way to the extraction point, and Nile had been too sore from repeated arm injuries and too frustrated from the sideways mission to clean the goons' blood out of her braids. So she taught him what to do.

He's since told her that one of the many things he did instead of drinking in those long fifteen years was watch Black haircare videos on YouTube. Hoping he could be useful someday. Hoping he could be useful to her.

It's starting to dawn on him that what he is to Nile is so very much more than just useful.

* * *

Today's absurd luxury retreat activity is cheesemaking. Which, like many old-timey things, Booker has done before and Nile has not.

This time a week ago, Nile was treated-slash-tortured with a half-day of meetings followed by watching Booker knead bread dough with those fucking arms of his in full view of colleagues who really should not catch her drooling.

This will be fine, she thinks. She has experienced _much_ more with his arms, with his _hands_ over the last few days than anything she might see in this cheesemaking class.

She's not counting on how fucking romantic it is.

It's the same assigned seating as dinner for this class, because apparently the kitchen will be making homestyle meals for each table based on how much cheese-related success or failure they accomplish this afternoon.

The six of them bicker companionably about which of the laminated recipe cards look fun. Some of them will be ready for tonight, and others, like cream cheese and quark — which Nile thinks is probably that cottage-cheese-looking spread that Andy likes — will be finished by the kitchen staff and delivered to their rooms once the cheese is ready.

Matt waxes rhapsodic about paneer, because it's easy and delicious and they can eat it tonight. Mohinder lobbies for labneh, which doesn't involve any actual making of cheese, just transformation of yogurt that the kitchen staff has already strained. Charlotte wants to try everything.

Booker folds his arms and states calmly that he will be making mozzarella, if anyone would like to join him.

Nile's into the mozzarella idea, even more so when Mohinder starts talking about the chemical process that happens from the curd stage to that signature stretch of the finished product.

But a few hours later, Nile has to stand in a well-lit room full of her coworkers and watch Booker grasp boiling-hot fresh cheese in his bare hands and show off his broad wingspan as he gently stretches the curds into mozzarella, all with this fucking _gleam in his eye like he's got a goddamn secret_.

Don't get her wrong, she is delighted. _Delighted._ She's just also— well, it's possible she might maybe a little bit have a fantasy developing in her head where she has Booker cook for her, wearing nothing but an apron.

When he squeezes off a little piece of the cheese and offers it to her with a soft, "Taste this," it takes every fiber of her being not to command him to put it in her mouth and let her chase it by sucking on his fingers.

The composed and professional adult known here as Zari Anderson takes the offered bite of cheese with her fingers and does not moan one bit at how firm yet supple it is. Tangy. Creamy. Like—

Nope, Nile is an adult and she is getting a goddamn hold of herself. And not like that.

Mohinder's mozzarella is turning out to be a hilarious disaster, and Nile appreciates both what a good sport he is about it and how helpful it is as a distraction from... other thoughts. In his excitement over the science, Mohinder had gone slightly off-recipe, and no matter how much Matt pulled at the curds, they just wouldn't transform into stretchy smooth mozzarella.

The instructor says it happens all the time and the kitchen has plenty of great recipes to show off "farmer's cheese".

Charlotte and Seth's paneer turns out somewhat more successful than Matt and Mohinder's mozza-mesto — Nicky will be proud of her for that wordplay, she might have to text him about it — but Booker's mozzarella is gorgeous.

She honestly can't tell whether he's done this before or if he's just that good at following instructions.

Jesus.

Anyway, Nile survives, she does not grab Booker by his collar and drag him out of the room to tear his clothes off in the nearest available alcove, and she thinks maybe only Charlotte noticed how close a call this was.

There's a group nature walk between cheesemaking class and dinner that Booker seems genuinely excited about, and they could skip out on it but Nile wants a lot more than what they'd have time for. And as much as she is _loving_ having new and creative and fucking mind-blowing sex with her damn soulmate every night of this trip, she does also enjoy nature, and spending time with Booker outside of sex, and even spending time with other people too.

* * *

Nile thinks she's done very well today with tamping down on strong emotions that her coworkers shouldn't see. But then they're seated at dinner and their server makes his way to their table.

It turns out Booker asked a friend he'd made on the kitchen staff to make deep-dish. Pepperoni, peppers, and onions, just as she'd said, with his mozzarella melted and bubbly across the top.

Nile honest-to-God bawls right there at the table.

She plays off her reaction as just the homesickness of an expat who hadn't been back to her home country in a few years. Seth is swooning over Sébastien's romance game. And Mohinder, who lived in New York for more than a decade, pat's Nile's hand and tells her that he'd probably have a similar reaction to an authentic bagel, fresh out of the oven "after a proper boil in NYC tap water," as he puts it.

It's fucking delicious. Nile burns the roof of her mouth over and over again in her joy over that first slice.

She's holding Booker's hand, enjoying the breeze on her face as they walk back across the resort grounds to their suite, when Martha comes rushing up to them, Alec on her heels.

"Nile, we need to talk to you," Martha says. "Right now."

Her eyebrows draw together as she and Book stop walking. "What about?" she asks.

"Not here. Come with us," she says. "We've got a conference room, I'll explain everything there."

Nile's still holding Booker's hand. He gives her a squeeze, then he leans in to softly kiss her cheek. "Mon ange, this sounds important," he says, and she sees the eyebrow quirk he's sending her telepathically without actually moving his face. "You should go with them, I'll wait up."

"Great, allons-y," Martha says, and turns on her heel without waiting for Nile to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?? Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion!
> 
> This fic assumes Biden serves one term and then Harris serves two. That's plenty of time to replace US Supreme Court Justices Roberts, Thomas, Breyer, and Alito — there's really no excuse for Democrats to appoint ANY white people to a court that has only had [three justices of color](https://www.cnn.com/2018/07/09/politics/supreme-court-justice-minorities-trnd/index.html) in its [entire history](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demographics_of_the_Supreme_Court_of_the_United_States). Biden's pledged to nominate a Black woman and [here](https://nymag.com/intelligencer/2020/12/what-will-it-take-to-get-a-black-woman-on-the-supreme-court.html) are [some](https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/2020-election/problem-biden-s-pledge-black-woman-justice-n1200826) [articles](https://www.abajournal.com/news/article/biden-has-pledged-to-nominate-a-black-female-justice.-who-are-the-possibilities) about who he might nominate.
> 
> One of my fiercest niche Old Guard headcanons is how much Nile's mom hates both Clarence Thomas and Joe Biden for what they did to Anita Hill. I might have spent... a lot of time researching and ranting in order to craft one throw-away paragraph about a movie Nile and Booker didn't stick around to watch. I'm not sorry.
> 
> Mozza-mesto is a pun of my own making, combining mozzarella with the Italian word mesto meaning sad. Nicky would either high-five me or expel me from the room for besmirching his language, but either way I'm having a good time with my puns!
> 
> Allons-y means let's go in French and is also a decade-old Doctor Who reference.
> 
> And please join me in looking at [how beautiful Kiki Layne is in this blue dress](https://nevermindirah.tumblr.com/post/642806362259226624/seblelivres-kiki-layne-promoting-kate-spade-new) that was the inspiration for Nile's dress in the first bondage scene. (Wait, did I say FIRST bondage scene??)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to this final installment of our thirst journey. 😏💋💗

"Que—?" Booker mumbles.

He vaguely registers noise, but it's muffled. What time is it? All he knows is it's dark, and— oh. Nile must be back from that meeting. He climbs his way out from under the covers to find Nile doing her best to be quiet as she paces across their generous suite, taking off shoes and accessories as she goes.

"Bonsoir, mon ange," he says.

She jerks her head up to look at him. She looks panicked for a moment, but her face relaxes into a goofy smile at what he's sure is remarkable bedhead. "Hey, babe. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Not at all," he says. "How was work?"

She sighs heavily as she crosses the room one more time to put down her handbag and grab a scarf. "My brain is so fried right now, I don't even know."

He smiles in soft encouragement.

"There's more I'll tell you about tomorrow, but for now, I'll say that it would be so much easier," she says, "and _so much cheaper_ — not to mention fucking safer — for this goddamn company to do electronics recycling and landfill trawling than mining. We live in the future, for fuck's sake! The science is there! But does anybody with the power to change things listen to me? Of fucking course not!" She pauses to sigh again. "I cannot wait to blow this company sky high."

"The world would be a much better place if more people listened to you," he says.

She smiles sharp and proud. "At least someone around here appreciates my leadership."

And it occurs to him that now might be the right time.

"I made you something," he says.

"Oh yeah?" she says, a teasing lilt softening her business mode but not replacing it entirely. She's so beautiful when she's like this.

She's so beautiful whenever she's being herself, in all the many facets of her. Her beauty shines through even when she's pretending to be someone else, but one thing Nile Freeman and Zari Anderson have in common is they're the one person in any room who everyone should be listening to.

He lifts himself out of bed and sifts through his suitcase to where he'd tucked away the leather cuff, carefully wrapped around a clean pair of socks so it wouldn't be bent out of shape. He keeps his body where it'll block it from her view as he turns around and steps close to her.

He's only wearing boxers and she's in full boardroom glamour, and if he weren't about to put his heart in her hand, he'd be halfway hard already.

"Close your eyes," he says, and they're not playing right now, so she does as he asks.

She reaches out one hand, palm up. Her breath catches when the leather makes contact with her fingertips. He cradles her hand in both of his and says, "Ok, you can open your eyes."

Her smile is so soft as she looks at what he made for her. Softer still when she looks at him, when she tilts her head to prompt him to explain. He bites his lip around all the feelings of _good_ bubbling up through him.

"I made this for you," he says quietly, "if you'd like to use it to mark me as yours."

She looks at him for a long, long moment. If he didn't know her so well, he might be nervous. But there's no suspense here. Somehow, miraculously, not only does he know how she feels about him, he _believes_ it.

She brushes his cheek softly with the fingertips of her free hand, then she's turning her attention to the cuff in all its loving detail. She laughs warmly when she notices the little piece of Chicago running along the edge. When she runs her fingertips along the inside of the leather, her eyes narrow for a moment. "Oh, sweetheart," she says when she looks at the inside of the cuff and finds the outline of the Nile River engraved from one end to the other.

"Give me your wrist," she says. He does. She lifts his wrist to her mouth and presses a gentle kiss to his pulse point, then she wraps the cuff, snug and confident, over her kiss. "Mine," she says.

"Yours."

"If you feel like staying awake for maybe half an hour, what do you say we get out of the rest of these clothes and celebrate with some lazy sex?"

"Oui, ma biche," he says. His cheeks hurt from smiling and it looks like hers might too. They might as well be standing under a chuppah, the bride having acquired the groom with a ring, about to be sealed with a kiss. So he brings his face close to hers, an invitation she accepts with enthusiasm.

They take off each other's clothes, every stitch but the cuff, and Nile has him lay down on his back and kisses him deep into the sheets. Once they're both good and worked up, she lays on top of him with her back against his chest, covers each of his hands with her own, and proceeds to use his hands to show her exactly how she likes to touch herself.

He has learned so much about her gorgeous, powerful body in just a few days, and he knows he will be learning new things about her body and soul for centuries to come. That doesn't mean he's ready for just how precious it is to get a little taste of how her body feels under her own fingertips.

She shows him how to tease along the sides of her breasts, how to ghost just past her nipples until they're practically straining to be touched. She shows him how much pressure she likes when she palms at her own ass. She draws their fingers in a slow, firm diagonal across her clit and he feels himself moaning alongside her. These are things he's picked up already and delights in learning anew.

She guides the middle finger of both their right hands inside her pussy and shows him exactly where to press and how hard to hold the pressure to have her absolutely losing her goddamn mind.

He is _only_ hanging onto his own sanity for the sake of memorizing every ridge and squish inside her. He thinks he recognizes the spot inside her that felt incandescently good the other night against the spot on him where his foreskin scrunches up under the head of his cock.

She shows him how to set a rhythm, pressing into the front wall of her pussy and easing up and pressing again. He might be able to approximate this with his dick if he really, really focused on fucking her slow and shallow from behind. But his hands were built for hard work with delicate things, and these fingers that he's proud to have used to tie children's shoes and painstakingly set millions of pieces of movable type have now found their truest calling.

Once again the concept of time eludes him as he soaks in the feel and sound and smell of how much she loves this, how good he's making her feel. When she comes, he feels it in his fingertips and all the way into his soul.

"Now show me," she says once she's caught her breath, and she's guiding their linked hands, both sticky from her pleasure, to wrap around his cock.

He doesn't last long once he shows her how to roll her thumb in small circles against his frenulum while stroking, alternating firm and loose, down the head of his cock and across his shaft.

She hums in satisfaction at mastering a new skill, and that just might be what sends him over the edge and spurting onto her belly.

* * *

Nile and Booker wake up early on Wednesday morning so she can tell him "the other thing" from her impromptu meeting.

He makes them coffee while she does her morning skincare routine, and then she dumps on him what Martha and Alec dumped on her.

All three of them, completely independent of each other, are embedded in Graham McCain for different flavors of the exact same purpose. Alec uncovered how the company is suppressing electronics recycling efforts and Martha caught him at it while she was feeding the Red Cross proprietary company memos about the health risks of their mining operations.

Then Martha looked Nile dead in the eye and said, "A couple friends of mine are much older than they look. I had a hunch, and when I chased it, I hit paydirt."

Martha didn't explain what she meant by that, and neither did Nile. Alec very pointedly didn't ask.

They delicately talked around the details of their personal situations and shared just enough about the goals of their respective operations to decide to work together, more a loose affiliation than a partnership. Mostly to make sure they don't fuck up each other's ops.

"Do you think Martha is a threat to us?" is the first thing Booker asks.

"No, I don't." Nile is confident that Martha doesn't want to cause them harm. She's one of those rare people who's determined as hell to do the right thing. Nile recognized the same mix of skepticism and kindred-spirit respect in Martha's eyes as she suspects Martha recognized in hers. "I think knowing her could be an advantage or a risk for us, though. I think she's friends with aliens or some shit like that. I'll call Daisy this weekend, see what she knows."

Daisy is a friend Nile made a while back who lives on a time-traveling spaceship. 

"Jesus. Ok," Booker says. "That's about the best possible scenario for blowing our cover, I suppose."

"Yeah," Nile says. "Thanks for making me coffee to get me through reliving that conversation."

"You know I'll give you whatever you need," he says. She really, really does.

* * *

Nile and Booker both are fidgety as hell through the dinnertime motivational speech rigamarole. Very little of it, surprisingly, is anxiety over having potentially been discovered as immortals.

Some of it is Nile's rage at this jackass who became a multibillionaire in the 2020s by revolutionizing employer-sponsored concierge telemedicine at the very moment when the US was finally ready to consider decoupling health coverage from employment. Booker can see the wheels turning in Nile's head as she calculates a potential future op, and he takes vicious delight in his "kick his ass, baby, I'll hold your flower" role.

But the main reason neither of them can't sit still is all the sitting still that they both know is coming later tonight.

Before leaving for today's meetings, Nile asked Booker to pick up a delivery for her, and while he's at the concierge desk also check in on the request she'd made the other day.

Booker looks up the company listed with the return address on Nile's package while the concierge is checking their notes about the request. His search comes back with a local sex toy store just as the concierge says they've found the record and confirms that, "Someone will deliver the requested chair between 3 and 5 this evening."

"Chair?" Booker asks.

The concierge swivels their monitor to show Booker the traditional wooden desk chair with the carved vertical slats across the backrest. "Will this meet your needs?"

"Yes," Booker says, doing his best not to let the _merde, Nile_ show in his tone. "That will work fine. Thank you for your help today."

The concierge returns Booker's polite smile, then turns their attention to another guest. Booker is left to spend the next _eight hours_ waiting patiently for whatever the fuck Nile has planned for tonight.

Nile and Booker have both come to adore Mohinder, but he keeps asking the speaker follow-up questions, and they can't sneak out of the ballroom while everyone's attention is on their table.

* * *

Booker looks like he's about to vibrate out of his skin when they finally make it back to their suite after tonight's interminable dinner theater of corporate bullshit. Nile has Booker unlock their door while she rolls out her shoulders. She wants to be in the right frame of mind for what she's about to do.

"I see you didn't peek at what's in that box," she says when she sees the package resting on the coffee table, unopened. "You're such a good boy for me, Sébastien."

She can just about feel him purring as she runs a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck.

"Would you like to play, sweetheart?"

"Yes please," he gasps. Oh, if he's already this worked up—

Nile feels tingles run across her skin at just how much fun this is going to be.

She reels him in for a kiss, sweet at first, stoking quickly into hungry. Booker's hands are groping at her back, her ass, holding as much of her as he can at a time like he's desperate to touch what he can while he can.

It's like he's got an idea of what's coming next.

Nile pulls back for air and rests their foreheads together. "I need to do a little bit more work tonight. To make sure you don't distract me, and to make sure you're ready for me when I'm done working, I'm going to strip you naked and tie you to that chair. Can you keep being a good boy for me?"

"Yes," he says. His eyebrows have climbed halfway up his forehead, and he looks so happy, but dumbfounded as well, like he can't believe his luck.

God _damn_ is it a rush to see this person she adores, who she trusts to hell and back, feel such joy at doing exactly as she says.

"What's your color, baby?" she asks, because she needs to be sure.

The way his throat works as he swallows is mesmerizing. "Green, ma biche."

"Good boy," she says. "Go set up the projector and bring me a holopanel. Then take off your socks and shoes, lay out all your belts at the foot of the bed, and wait for me there."

He does.

She spends a long few moments looking him over, appreciating the cut of his dress shirt across his shoulders, the half-tent already jutting out from his pants.

"That was a good instinct," she says, "to get your hands all over me while you had the chance. You might want to keep doing that while I take your clothes off."

He moans as she brushes her hands across his shoulders and leans up to kiss him. He is a very good listener, and he gets a nice firm grip on her ass with both hands.

For a moment she considers throwing tonight's plan out the window and having him fuck her against the wall. She kisses him until the thought passes, until she's ready to take her time unbuttoning his shirt.

He only takes his hands off of her long enough for her to tug his shirtsleeves down his wrists, and then again for her to tear his undershirt over his head. He makes no move to undress her. She hasn't told him to.

Once she unbuckles his belt, slides it through the loops at his waistband, and sets it with the others at the foot of the bed, she's starting to lose her patience. She's the boss here, she can change the timeline if she wants.

So she unbuttons and unzips his pants, gets her fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs, and drags her hands all the way down his legs to the floor, taking all that fabric with her.

"Step out of your pants and sit down," she says, gesturing to the wooden chair. So he does.

She didn't give him a chance to savor the last moments of her body under his hands before she slipped away from him, and if the way he's got both hands splayed across his thighs is anything to go on, it is having exactly the desired effect.

He's still just half-hard, a sign of patience if she ever fucking saw one. He is very well aware that he's not going anywhere anytime soon. Her good boy.

Now to pick the right belts for the job.

She sets aside the two dressier ones he's liable to choose between for tomorrow night's closing ceremonies nonsense. There's rope in the box on the coffee table that she'll use to tie his ankles to the chair legs.

The real trouble will be immobilizing his arms. Hmm.

"Put your hands behind your back," she says. The position makes his biceps pop beautifully. "You're so good for me. I'm gonna start to tie you up now."

She starts with the smoothest belt, black patent leather with a simple gold buckle, and brushes it across his chest before looping it around the narrowest part of his waist and through the slats in the back of the chair. She secures the buckle at his side, so he won't be tempted to mess with it, and so it won't get in her way if she decides to ride him later.

"What's your color, baby?" she asks.

"Green."

"You look so pretty like this," she says. "I'm going to tie your arms to the back of the chair next. And then I'm going to bind your wrists." She pauses to tilt his chin up towards her with a gentle finger. "And then I'm going to show you what's in the box."

She turns back to the selection of belts, smiling to herself at the gorgeous shudder she saw go through him just now.

She picks up a casual belt that looks like it's seen some things, runs it through her fingers. It's flexible enough but sturdy. She loops it around his arm just above the elbow and secures it around a rung of the chair. Fuck does he look good like this, so she gives him a kiss on his cheek.

She does the same thing with his other arm and another belt that feels like it's up to the job, and then it's time to pick up that buttery brown leather that got her thinking about all of this to start with.

"I want you tied down nice and secure, but I want you comfortable. Are you comfortable, sweetheart?"

"It feels good," he says. He sounds _wrecked_.

"I'm glad," she says. "It looks good too."

It's such fun to watch him preen under her attention.

She presses a soft kiss to his knuckles before winding her favorite of his belts snug around both his wrists.

"Color?"

"Green." His tone is so warm, so _happy_.

"Wait right there," she says, because she can't help herself.

She thought he might laugh, but instead she hears a sharp intake of breath, and when she turns back to look at him, to make sure he's ok, she finds his face and chest flushed bright red.

His cock has filled out while her attention was elsewhere. He's rock hard from absolutely nothing but the belts tying him to the chair and the anticipation of their new toys.

A smile stretches her cheeks when she sees he left a small knife on the table next to the package. So thoughtful. She makes quick work cutting it open and brings it back over to show off what she's bought them.

"You want to see?" she asks, and she gets exactly the look of slack-jawed hunger she asked for.

She draws the rope out of the box first and approaches him with the length of it between her hands. "I'm going to tie your ankles to the chair legs with this," she says. Her hair is down, and her locs brush against his chest as she leans down into his face, so close but not quite close enough to kiss. He whimpers beautifully when she draws back and sinks to her knees.

The rope is much easier to work with and both his ankles are secure in no time. "Color, baby?"

"So green," he says.

She looks up at him from under her lashes, still on her knees from tying up his ankles. "You ready to see my dick?"

" _Nile_ ," he says, like it's a curse and a prayer.

She smirks, fierce and proud. They're just getting started.

* * *

An hour later and Nile has made significant progress on her map of the company that she now has allies in taking down.

Her very, very good boy eventually got a hold of himself enough to share the new intel he's picked up from Jimena. Nile also learns that Seth is a chatty drunk and told Booker a lot of details about what's going on in the Harare office.

The same holopanel she's using to update her digital sticky notes also has the room's lighting and temperature controls. Booker looks like the most well-behaved slab of beef she's ever seen, but he was also starting to look cold, so she jacked up the heat in their room.

Before too long she's stripped herself down to her camisole and boyshort undies, just so she'll be comfortable while she paces across the room updating her notes. If she occasionally hears Booker whine when she does something like squat down to reach something at the bottom edge of the map, what about it?

Once she's satisfied that her map now reflects everything she's learned in the past few days and has the necessary flags on how her work might overlap with what Martha and Alec are up to, she lifts her arms high above her head and raises up on her tip toes for a nice long stretch.

"I think I'm done working for tonight," she says to Booker, sending him a warm smile. "Would you like it if I come sit with you?"

His erection flagged about ten minutes after he realized her only plan tonight for her brand-new strap-on was to show it to him briefly and then put it back in the box until tomorrow night. She let him whine about it all he wanted and didn't do a damn thing beyond throw him the occasional wicked smile.

Tying him up and teasing him with things he can't have yet, letting him cry his eyes out about it without a touch from her — this might be the perfect way for both of them to indulge in his bratty streak. He gets to pout, she gets to enjoy how beautiful he is all trussed up, and nobody needs to even pretend to hit anybody.

Nile Freeman, lazy Domme. She fucking loves how right this feels.

Booker whined so sweetly at her suggestion that she might come sit with him. Now that she's put away her work things, she's treated to the stunning view of his cock thickening up between his thighs.

Just where she was thinking of sitting.

"Color?"

"Green," he whimpers.

She makes a show of raking her eyes over him. "I'm new to the party, I need to catch up," she says. "Will you help me?"

"Yes," he says. "Anything."

"You're so good to me, sweetheart," she says before stalking over to where he's been so patiently waiting for her.

"I'm a little overdressed, huh? What do you think, should I take this off?" she asks, tugging at the hem of her camisole.

He moans instead of answering. He knows full well that she is not going to untie him, that he will not be able to help her out of her underthings. He's desperate for her, but he will obey her rules. The thought of it has her pussy slicking up, her pulse quickening.

She can take off her camisole later. She needs his skin on hers _now_.

So she straddles him and settles her thighs across his.

"Oh, did you want me to sit somewhere else?" she teases when he tries in vain to get his cock anywhere near her. "How about you kiss me and we'll see if I feel like taking some more of my clothes off?"

He can't get his cock any closer to her than she chooses to be, but he has full mobility from his ribs on up, and he wastes no time at all chasing her mouth with his own.

Now Nile is the one whimpering.

He puts everything he has into kissing her breathless. It's not long before she has to pull away for just a moment, and only to tear her camisole over her head. His lips are back on hers the moment the fabric is out of the way and Nile makes quick work of her bra so she can finally get herself more of the touch her body is clamoring for.

Booker groans when he feels her tits against his chest. Holy _fuck_ , the vibration running through him feels like lighting against her nipples.

"Color?" she whimpers between his kisses.

"Green," he pants. She can feel him pouring into his kisses what might be a string of worshipful begging if his mouth weren't already doing double-duty for his hands.

She slides both her hands up the back of his neck to grip his hair. _Fuck_ , she could keep kissing him like this forever. But her clit is _aching_.

Nile lifts her hips up enough to wiggle out of her underwear, and it takes for-fucking- _ever_ but she doesn't want to stop kissing him and the frustration of it is just making her wetter.

Finally she manages to rip off her damn underwear, and Booker whimpers into her mouth as she wraps a hand around his cock and sinks down onto him.

Her jaw goes slack at the feel of her clit grazing down his belly.

"Nile— please, Nile, ma biche, mon désir," he's babbling, and she realizes it's because she's dropped her head back and he can't reach her.

"Suck on my tits," she says around a whimper of her own.

He cries like it's the most beautiful idea he's ever heard, like he'd been too overwhelmed to think of it himself.

His tongue knows exactly what to do. Nile's breathing hard, she knows she's going to come fast, she's starting to feel a just a little lightheaded and she doesn't want to fall but leaning back like this is pressing her clit so nice against his belly every time she crashes down onto his cock—

She wraps both her hands tight around the back of his neck and holds on for dear life until she feels every muscle squeeze tight and shatter apart.

Booker is coming inside her and he releases her nipple so he can gasp as much air into his lungs as he can manage and they both just pant and shake until Nile sinks her head into the crook of his neck and loses the plot.

* * *

The less said about this final goddamn day of this mandatory-fun corporate bullshit the fucking better.

Nile is wearing her brand-new harness and the sparkly royal blue cock that turns out to be _the perfect size to push apart Booker's lips just right_.

"You're so, so pretty on your knees for me, baby." He looks just about as blissed out sucking her cock as he does eating her pussy.

Every time he moves, the base of the dildo taps against her clit. She thinks she might be able to come like this.

But even better than coming in his mouth would be coming in his ass, which he has been begging her for since the moment they got back to their suite and she pulled him into the shower.

"Fuck, you're so good," she says. "Look at how beautifully you suck my cock." He looks up at her with pleading in his eyes. "You think you got it wet enough to sit on?"

She can't feel his moans vibrating through her quite the same, but she sure as fuck can feel the way his choke pushes the base of her dick onto her clit.

"Come stand up, baby, and give me your color."

He's breathing hard as he obeys, and it takes him a moment of practically swallowing his own tongue before he says, "Green."

"Good. Now go get the lube and get settled on your hands and knees on the bed for me."

The way his face lights up at her command is the hottest and most validating thing in the goddamn universe.

He does a few cat-cows while he waits for her, and _fuck_ is it a compelling sight, those broad shoulders flexing, his cock bobbing hard and ignored between those thick thighs.

Nile lays a gentle hand at his flank while she gets settled behind him. "You're such a good boy, Sébastien," she says. His groan and the filthy squirting sound of the lube hitting her fingers send new slickness through her pussy.

But she's not the one who needs to be wet right now. So she lifts up her lubed fingers to his hole and takes a moment to enjoy how he shivers. She plants a soft kiss to the swell of his ass. And then as she starts to tease the lube into his entrance, she bites down on his ass.

His cry is a work of art.

He's breathing deep and slow, relaxing, opening himself up for her. She gives him alternating playful bites and wet kisses on his ass cheeks in reward, and two lubed fingers are sliding into him comfortably in no time.

Nile's been fucked with strap-ons plenty but she's never had the pleasure of being on this side of it before. She cannot fucking wait.

She pulls out her fingers, slicks up her shiny blue cock, and presses the head to Booker's hole.

"What's your color, sweetheart?"

"Green, ma biche," he says like a prayer.

That first slide of her cock inside him is _indescribable_.

Booker is whimpering, tilting his hips to signal that he wants her to move. Silicone will stay hard for as long as you damn well want it to, but it can't _feel_ , and Nile will need to pay close attention to how he's reacting to make sure her cock feels as good for him as it does for her.

 _Fuck_ does it feel good for her. Nile is definitely going to come from the pressure of the base of her dick against her clit.

She supposes she's given him more than enough time to adjust. She slowly pulls most of the way out of his ass and pushes a little faster back in.

Nile sets a deliberately slow pace. She wants to savor every second of this, memorize every one of Booker's moans and shudders, learn how he sounds when she changes her angle. But it feels _so fucking good_ that she starts to slam into him harder.

"Color?" she grits out as soon as she realizes what she's doing.

"Green, green, please," he pants.

She's chasing her own orgasm, dragging her tits across his back with every thrust, pushing into him harder and harder and—

"Ow!" she shouts. "Ow ow ow ow, shit." She pulls out of him and tears the harness off of herself. "Fuck. I'm sorry—"

Booker has turned around and he's reaching a hand out to cup her cheek, looking her over carefully. "What's wrong? Are you ok?"

She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, opens them on a long exhale. His hand on her cheek is so soothing.

"I'm ok," she says. "Just got carried away, too much on my clit. I'm sorry to have to stop but I need a minute."

"Of course, Nile." He kisses her forehead softly. "Take all the time you need. Can I get you anything?"

"Do we have any ice?" she asks.

He strokes his thumb across her cheek and gives her another kiss before getting up to check.

The mini-fridge does not contain ice. He grabs the gleaming metal ice bucket and a pair of jeans.

"I'll go get us some," he says. "Hold tight, I'll be right back."

"Sweetheart, it's ok—" she starts to say, and then she stops herself. She takes a few deep breaths around the realization that still, at 46 years old, with twenty years of consistent support and nurture from her new family, she still has moments where she assumes she's the only one who can be expected to look out for her own needs.

Booker is throwing on a pair of jeans, _without underwear_ , casually tucking his very hard cock out of the way of the zipper, and he looks unfussed and calmly determined to get her whatever she needs.

"Thank you, Booker," she says. Tears are starting to prick at her eyes, but she doesn't want to talk about it, so to distract them both, she adds, "Those jeans can't be anywhere near comfortable, though."

"Erections are a renewable resource, ma biche." He _winks at her_ and ducks out of the room.

Nile lays down on her back and lets her tears fall.

She's wiping her cheeks dry when he comes back in, and he wastes no time bringing her the ice bucket. Then he shucks his jeans and goes back to his suitcase to grab something. Probably boxers. They might be done for the night.

"Hey," he says when he climbs up on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Hey, sweetheart," she says. "I don't know." She presses her fingers into her closed eyes for a moment then swipes one more time at her cheeks before looking at him. "My clit hurts, but if I'd injured myself it would be fine by now, so I guess I'm down for the count. And I feel a little silly."

He's laid down next to her and he's drawing her into his arms. "You're ok, Nile. Not silly. You're gorgeous. I'm very flattered that fucking me was that much fun for you, that it got you that carried away."

She feels his cock starting to thicken up against her thigh. He didn't put on more clothes.

"Here, can I help you ice your clit?" he asks.

"Yeah, baby, thank you."

He takes a few pieces of ice and wraps them in a soft t-shirt. That must've been what he grabbed from his suitcase.

The cold little bundle he rests softly on her mound, just above her clit, right where he's learned she likes to be teased — it feels soothing, and fuck, it feels _good_.

She lets out a little, "Oh," and she feels Booker smirk where he's resting his face against her ribs.

"We can be done for the night, if you need," he says. "But we don't have to be. I'll take care of you how _ever_ you want."

The way she hums must feel good vibrating through her and across Booker's skin. She can feel his smirk grow into what she's sure without even seeing it is a filthy grin.

"Let's keep playing then, baby." She runs a hand through his hair and feels him start to hum with the pleasure of it as well. "Keep doing that until I tell you different, ok?"

"Gladly," he says.

They're quiet for a while, enjoying the feel of each other's chests moving slowly with their breath. The ice is helping. Every so often Booker replaces melting ice cubes with fresh ones, wringing out t-shirt each time, and he slowly works his way up to resting the ice bundle directly on her clit.

"Sébastien, remind me what I bought us?" she asks.

He chuckles into her belly. "Getting forgetful in your old age?" he says, lifting his head to raise an eyebrow at her.

She raises an eyebrow back, but it's the _we are still playing and you will do as I say_ kind. The change in his expression from teasing to obedient and his little gasp are very, very satisfying. Nile files this away to examine in more detail later.

"You bought us lube, and rope, and your harness, and your beautiful cock, and those nipple clamps, ma biche."

"Is that all?" she asks.

He pauses. "I think so?"

"Oh, sweetheart, I have one more surprise for you," she says. "I'm feeling much better now. Go put away this ice and bring me the one other thing still in the box."

He does.

He's holding the thigh harness with the same kind of reverence as he might hold a baby bird, or maybe her tits.

Being a Type A boss bitch with contingencies for everything is the fucking best.

She has him sit her up in a throne of pillows against the headboard, which gives her a delicious view of his bare ass across the room as he washes her cock with soap and water in the bathroom sink.

When he's returned to the bed with her clean and dry cock, she has him fit it through the o-ring of the new thigh harness and slide it up her thigh to rest snugly like a garter.

"You're going to bounce yourself up and down on my cock while you suck on my tits. Color?"

"Green," he says with such devotion it just about makes her head spin.

He makes a hell of a show lubing up her cock and smearing the extra on his hand around his rim. "I love you," he says as he lines himself up.

Fucking him on his hands and knees was delicious, but _this_ , f u c k he is beautiful.

"I love you too," she whispers once his ass cheeks bounce gently down onto her thigh.

He is a very, very good boy who starts his tongue tracing lazily across her breasts before he slides back up her cock to start fucking himself in earnest.

Nile fucking cherishes the occasional time spent as a pillow princess. She gets both her hands in Booker's hair and lays back to enjoy the show.

The way he's nibbling and sucking at her nipples has Nile so fucking wet before she even realizes her body is ready to maybe think about letting her come tonight. Her clit is still sore, but there are other options.

"Harder," she says with a tug at his hair.

He sucks her tit into his mouth with a fierce moan.

"Good, baby, you're so good, yes, just like that, fuck," and the more she talks the more her pussy slicks. She starts to angle her hips and make small thrusts against the sheets.

"Sweetheart, do you think you can bounce on my cock and finger me at the same time?"

"Yes," he says around her nipple. "Please." Another sucking wet kiss. "Let me give you what you need."

"I want two fingers inside of me pressing where I showed you, nothing on my clit." He's tracing his fingers up her thigh and she tilts her hips up in anticipation.

"Oui, ma biche."

 _F u c k_ was he ever paying attention the other night, because he gives her _precisely_ what she needs.

Before long he's bouncing fast and desperate up and down her cock, starting to palm at the head of his own. She takes one hand from where she's been rubbing her knuckles against both her nipples to paw around for the lube, and once she's gotten a squirt of it in her hand she pushes his hand off his cock and slides firm down the tip.

"I'm so close," she whimpers. "Keep— keep going, fuck. Color?"

"Green— I'm close too—"

Time is like a smear of lube across her stomach, she barely knows where she is, all that matters is how good his fingertips feel pressing at the legs of her clit from inside her pussy, how pretty he is with his throat bared and his tits heaving from bouncing on her cock—

He comes in streaks all over her chest and stills with her cock still inside him until she squeezes and melts around his fingers with a sharp cry.

They grin at each other like the exhausted, lovesick idiots they are. He slides off her cock and curls up gently in her lap, head nestled against her heart.

* * *

"The concierge just texted me that the rental car is here," Booker calls from the bathroom.

"Ok, thanks babe!" Nile calls back. She's smoothing out any remaining wrinkles from their hanging bag before zipping it up and draping it on top of their suitcases. When Booker's done packing the toiletries, all that will be left is to put their coffee mugs in the sink and double-check that there's nothing they missed.

It's barely past 8 am Friday morning, and instead of taking her ersatz employer up on their offer to extend her resort stay through Sunday, she and Booker are getting the fuck out of here.

Nile drives and Booker looks up roadside breakfast options.

Last night at the exhausting and awkward and deeply unnecessary "closing ceremonies" Nile and Booker at least had a chance to hug their new friends goodbye. They'll be seeing more of Fatou and Moustapha and Assane, and probably Martha and Alec depending on how all that ends up going, but the rest of these people will be faces on video calls for Nile, and soon enough every last one of them, even Fatou, will be a dusty memory.

Nicky was right that long-term ops are harder.

On the drive, Nile talks about how her nerd vibe with Mohinder had gotten her thinking about grad school. The conversation runs the gamut from everything Nile might study to everything Booker might get up to with full access to a university library to what city might make them both happy to settle in for a few years, with the others or just the two of them, and by the time they're done they're most of the way to Oakland.

* * *

"Kawana, hi!"

The leatherworking teacher from the retreat has a storefront in downtown Oakland. Booker has finally learned what Kawana and Nile had been talking about after the class where he'd made his cuff.

"Hey, Zari! Sébastien! Come on in," Kawana is saying.

"I'm only dropping Zari off," Booker says, "but it's good to see you again."

Nile lifts Booker's wrist to show Kawana the cuff that he's proudly wearing now that Nile's coworkers aren't around to ask questions to which they do not deserve the answers.

"That looks good, nice work!" she says. Booker smiles shyly at the praise.

"Ok, babe, I'll meet you back at the hotel," Nile says with a squeeze at his wrist before letting him go. "Drive safe!"

"See you soon," he says.

Nile follows Kawana into her shop and gets settled in the fitting area. It's going to be an intimate afternoon, because Kawana will be fitting Nile for the mockup she's made of an 1890s-style corset designed to the measurements they took earlier in the week.

Nile as Zari Anderson paid a lot of money for the bespoke corset, for the absurd turn-around time, and for the privilege of taking this mockup with her when she leaves the shop this afternoon. The finished garment will be shipped to their house in Dakar when it's ready.

Nile Freeman will probably need to pay Quỳnh a lot of money to leave the house for the night when it arrives. Nile may be a kinky bitch but voyeurism isn't always her thing. And Quỳnh loves her and respects her boundaries and all that shit, but she's going to be so much sillier about Nile-and-Booker than the others.

The fitting goes fantastically. Nile loves how it looks, and she and Kawana had talked the other night and over email about fabrics and colors for the final garment, but now that she's here in the shop Nile gets to run her fingers across fabric samples until she finds just the right one.

Booker is going to spontaneously combust.

Part of the deal with Nile paying extra to take the mockup with her is she needs to wait in the shop while Kawana transfers to her paper pattern the adjustments she'd made when the mockup was on Nile's body. They chat while Kawana tapes new drafting paper to one section and cuts paper away from another and does a complicated series of drawings Nile finds surprisingly similar to battle plans.

Nile says so, and she learns that Kawana served in the Air Force. For different reasons than Nile had joined the Marines, but sort of for the same reason, really. Kawana couldn't afford gender transition care otherwise.

This is America.

Nile's introduction to immortality being what it was, seeing the profound isolation that had driven Booker to the shell of a person she'd first met, she doesn't think she'll ever stop appreciating conversations like this one. She will probably never see this woman again. But she's so glad for this moment right now.

When she leaves Kawana's shop a while later, with her white muslin corset mockup that's a little messy but plenty wearable for her evening plans wrapped neatly in tissue paper inside a pretty paper bag, she walks more than half an hour through the streets of downtown Oakland on her way to the hotel. Booker is at the National AIDS Memorial Grove in Golden Gate Park, and depending on traffic across the bridge he may be a while, so she takes her time seeing what she sees.

She'd asked Kawana to take a picture of her in the corset mockup, and when she gets back to the hotel she texts it to Quỳnh.

It's maybe an hour later when Booker gets back to the room, and Nile's barely had a chance to kiss him hello when her phone starts aggressively buzzing.

"DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS," reads Quỳnh's first text. Then, before Nile can respond, Quỳnh adds, "I KNEW IT."

Nile sends back a string of emojis, "😏💋💗," taking a moment to think about it before choosing the three hearts in a nod to their unshakable triple-bestie-hood.

Quỳnh's, "YOU'RE WELCOME," comes firing back almost instantaneously.

"We've been discovered, I take it?" Booker asks. He's chuckling at the screen Nile has turned to show him when his own phone starts to vibrate.

It's going to be either Andy or Joe, and he could go pick up his phone from where he dropped it on the counter, or he could continue staring at this picture of Nile.

She realizes that he's looking at spoilers and snatches her phone away from him. He sighs with all his heart at the loss and overdramatically storms over to pick up his phone.

"Joe," he says after a moment of looking at the screen. "Happy for us. But there's also a picture of Nicky looking through a rifle scope." Booker laughs. "Message received, asshole," he says aloud, and then texts the same thing to Joe.

"Are you hungry?" Nile asks when he's put his phone down. The way he raises his eyebrows suggests maybe she needs to be clearer. "Are you going to want to head to that restaurant soon?"

"No," he says. "I want to stay right here."

Nile had planned for them to have a nice dinner followed by a return to the hotel and reveal of her new lingerie, but. Well.

* * *

Once Nile came out of the bathroom wearing only a simple pair of black panties and a fucking honest-to-God _corset_ , Booker lost all sense of—

There is absolutely no describing this.

_Nile._

Is wearing.

A _corset._

All he knows is he's naked at her feet, beard sticky from eating her pussy like his life depended on it, and she's tugging on his hair.

"Pick me up," she says.

He does.

The little nubs of the plastic busk at the front of her corset — her _corset_ — are digging into his chest. Later, he will think to ask Nile whether she was hoping he would enjoy the little pricks of pain — later, he will have the wherewithal to reflect on this experience and put words to how much he _loved_ those mean little tweaks from the plastic — and she will say she'd been so excited to show off for him that she hadn't even thought about it.

Right now all he knows is her next command.

"Push me up against the wall and fuck me," she says.

He does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last scene is dedicated to [mamsellefreeman and scholasticdreamer](https://mamsellefreeman.tumblr.com/post/637541020418080769/1800s-sex-be-like-helps-you-out-of-a-carriage), who have very good ideas and who just might be getting a DVD extra of Nile receiving a package in Dakar two weeks from the end of this fic.
> 
> It's not depicted in the fic in any way, but feel free to imagine Nile was wearing [this gold suit](https://nevermindirah.tumblr.com/post/635700924416966656/kiki-layne-attends-gucci-s-s19-wearing-the-brand) before Booker carefully took it off of her and helped her into her harness. Also please enjoy [this Nile hair inspiration / Kiki Layne thirst post](https://nevermindirah.tumblr.com/post/636874421343256576).
> 
> A chuppah is the canopy raised over the couple during a Jewish wedding. The Moment when marriage happens in Jewish tradition is when the groom acquires the bride with a ring, but fuck the patriarchy and many modern couples exchange rings mutually or use other Jewish and non-Jewish traditions to cement their marriages. For more takes on Booker and Nile and Jewish wedding traditions, see [chapter 10 of my fic I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315082/chapters/69181065) as well as [lady-writes](https://lady-writes.tumblr.com/)'s gorgeous [2117, Revisited](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938842) for which I contributed Jewish background and headcanons.
> 
> I delight in any kudos and comments you feel moved to send my way! You're welcome and encouraged to [come scream with me about Nile and Booker and the gang on Tumblr](https://nevermindirah.tumblr.com/), where I especially welcome questions about my fics and prompts for new ones!


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